Lisbon and Jane: Fifty Things
by DemonClowSorceress
Summary: Eighth of the Fifty Things collection! Now I present fifty bits of Lisbon and Jane! K plus for anything that may appear. COMPLETE!
1. Prompts

**Jane and Lisbon: Fifty Things**

**By: DemonClowSorceress**

**Number eight of this now incredible collection! Now I give you the Fifty Things of Jane and Lisbon!**

****Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist _or any of its characters.****

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><p>#1 - Couch<p>

It's the spot she's always come to think of as his. To be honest, it's practically become his second home.

#2 - Pony

Her face had been priceless - and totally worth the price.

#3 - Focus

The urge to catch Red John increased with every passing case.

#4 - Plan

She doesn't know why she bothers asking anymore.

#5 - Smiley

"That's not healthy, Jane. Not after all this time."

#6 - Palace

His memory palace was extensive and detailed - especially when it came to everything he knew about Lisbon.

#7 - File

She'd found out bits and pieces of his past from his own admissions, but the big picture was always a bit hazy to see.

#8 - Hole

He'd fallen hard from those carefree times as a charlatan. But he'd been making amends as he made the climb back up.

#9 - Carnival

Lisbon found herself curious about his childhood one day, so she asked him about it.

#10 - Relating

He's always had a gift with children. Fatherly instincts never truly fade.

#11 - Tears

It's tough being tough on a day-to-day bases. It's even tougher to be vulnerable when you just want to cry.

#12 - Even

Situation: Showing up at a cop's door with ice cream and chocolate. Chance of entrance: 50/50 depending on her mood.

#13 - Desperation

It wasn't often that he was scared for Lisbon. To be honest, it terrified him to care so much about her.

#14 - Frown

Her tell was just adorable.

#15 - Lonely

Sometimes it becomes too much to bear.

#16 - Sight

He never truly appreciated her beauty until he couldn't see it.

#17 - Method

It wasn't always obvious, but after four years, she had to believe it was in there somewhere.

#18 - Temptress

"What lucky SOB gets to see the boss in that?" Cho deadpanned, knowing that Jane was paying rapt attention.

#19 - Madness

"You're very well groomed for a crazy person."

#20 - Details

His devil was all but invisible. Maybe that's why he worked so hard to hunt down others.

#21 - Misdirect

At her behest, Jane decided to teach her a basic trick of his trade.

#22 - Grace

Jane was a skeptic, but he made the boss smile. That counted for something.

#23 - Smile

He had plenty of them, and Lisbon was beginning to notice which were real and which he faked.

#24 - Red

He always associated that color and all its shades with vengeance and death - until he saw that dress on her.

#25 - Tombstones

When that fateful day rolls around, she knows exactly where to go.

#26 - Rigsby

When it mattered, Jane could really give good advice. Even if he did make things impossibly awkward.

#27 - Illness

He had nobody. So Lisbon armed herself with chicken soup, medicine, and her best game face to drive him back to Malibu.

#28 - Drive

They both had it for very different reasons.

#29 - Cho

Jane had his useful moments. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

#30 - Loopy

Heavy-duty pain medication, Lisbon learned, was the only thing capable of turning Patrick Jane into a rambling wellspring of information.

#31 - Backhand

"You'd make a fine shill, Lisbon."

#32 - Switch-up

The day was a long day coming when Patrick Jane found himself outsmarted by Teresa Lisbon.

#33 - Heal

It would take a while, but at least he now had a reason to try.

#34 - Poker

He completely _killed _at that game for a variety of reasons.

#35 - Bomb

No lie, he was _absolutely terrified _when he saw that rigged vest on his Teresa.

#36 - Talk

She knew he had plenty of it, but her chief concern was with what his mouth spewed out when in volatile situations.

#37 - Blurt

"Dammit Jane, why won't you listen to someone who loves you?"

#38 - Pulse

It'd been a long, long time since he'd felt his heart beat for something other than revenge.

#39 - Cracks

Little by little over the years, she'd begun to see the man behind the mask.

#40 - Response

Panic was his chief emotion, mixed with hope, pain - and an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

#41 - Accomplice

After a while, Lisbon resigned herself to the truth.

#42 - Psychic

He kept insisting that they weren't real.

#43 - Tradition

She never cared for it. He never followed it.

#44 - Flashback

It was Red John all over again, but this time Jane was the victim.

#45 - Brothers

He rolled his eyes at her concern. "Lisbon, I think I'm perfectly capable of surviving your four brothers' scrutiny for one family dinner."

#46 - Scolding

He knew that his antics could've gotten them killed.

#47 - Danger

On the job with her was always a heart attack waiting to happen.

#48 - Blindsided

When a blonde mentalist walked into her life and proceeded to knock the wind out of her sails, Lisbon never knew she'd come to care about his annoying ass.

#49 - Chances

Each time, he chose to save her.

#50 - Partners

The Mentalist and the CBI Agent. Truly, a match made by the universe to last.

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><p><strong>There you go! Like? Dislike? Want one-shots? Review and let me know!<strong>


	2. Couch

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #1: Couch - It's the spot she's always come to think of as his. To be honest, it's practically become his second home.**

**Words: 400**

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><p>It used to just sit there, really.<p>

A slightly beat-up piece of furniture by an empty desk. That's all it was. A place for an overworked agent to lay down and rest his eyes for a few minutes, but that's about it. Nobody claimed it as their own. Nobody even wanted it there. It was some interior designer's pathetic attempt at making the CBI headquarters look a little more inviting.

There was a lot of talk about getting rid of it. It was just taking up space, and everyone agreed that someone else could probably use it more than the CBI. It came damn close to being gone, actually.

But now, it had a purpose beside sitting there, looking pretty and brown and puffy. It served as Patrick Jane's home away from home.

I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon. The annoying blonde mentalist in the bullpen, stretched on the sofa in question - yeah, that's my consultant. Patrick Jane.

He does have his own desk. The empty one, right next to the couch. But he never uses it. Ever. His stuff is piled around it, but you'll never see the consultant sitting in that chair. No, he's always on that couch. Stretched out like a cat, he could always be counted on to be catching a nap there or (as was his habit) pretending to sleep so as to catch conversations people had believing he was asleep. Sometimes he'd be reading some magazine or, more likely, pretending to read a magazine. And sometimes he'd just lay back on the couch and stare at the Elvis-shaped stain on the cieling.

It's like his thinking couch. He makes some of his most astute observations (and asinine plans) from the brown leather sofa. He gives his vague clues and subtle taunts from that couch. If tempted (or bored enough, honestly) it's conceiveable that Patrick Jane could plot the downfall of a team from his position of power.

Wait, he's done that already. Right. Forgot for a second.

So, that's the deal with the couch. If you ever need to find Jane, check the couch in the bullpen. He's either there or in the kitchen, brewing a perfect cup of tea. But nine times out of ten, he's on that couch, pretending to sleep.

Annoying bastard.

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><p><strong>Let the Jisbon commence!<strong>

**Review please!**


	3. Pony

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #2: Pony - Her face had been priceless - and totally worth the price.**

**Words: 388**

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><p>Lisbon isn't a believer. I understand that. Life like hers, you can't believe every shmuck is going to change. But seriously, she's being a complete stick in the mud. "You gotta look at it this way. We've closed yet another case."<p>

She refuses to see the silver lining. "Toying with mafia bosses is no way to close cases. It's stupid." It's said in that final tone that usually tells people to shut up.

I ignore it like always because, honestly, I can tell she's being difficult on purpose. I decide to point it out. "Meh, you're just trying to find fault, and I know why." I speak a bit faster to make her halt before entering her office.

Good. The blinds are drawn. It must be here already. Finally.

"Oh really?" she asks, turning to face me outside her office. Disbelief is prominent on her expressive face.

"Yeah, you're still a little grumpy about the birthday present thing, aren't you?" I decide to tease a tad. She needs something to smile about.

She still looks annoyed. "Will you leave that alone?" she asks me.

I knew she could hold a grudge, but this? Really? She's being childish now.

"Oh, unbelievable," I say. "You know, you've go no reason to be grumpy anymore." Digging into my pocket, I pull out the red bow and stick it to her door. She gives me an incredulous look, and I tilt my head to the door in a _Go ahead _move.

Her hand reaches for the door. I wave Grace, Cho, and Rigsby over as she opens the door and sees the adorable pony wearing the _Happy Birthday!_ saddle blanket. As expected, it's as cute as any pony that a little girl would want. When I look over to see her reaction, it's at that exact moment that she looks at me.

Her expression - it's unlike anything I'd ever seen from her yet. It holds wonder, and disbelief, and a trace of thanks that I treasure more than gold.

It's amazing, but this woman's managed to surprise me. Yet again.

And I have a feeling she won't for a long time.

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><p><strong>My thought about what might've gone through Jane's head during the last bit of 1x20 "Red Sauce."<strong>


	4. Focus

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #3: Focus - The urge to catch Red John increased with every passing case.**

**Words: 469**

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><p>In the beginning, only Jane was burdened with the need for revenge against the serial killer Red John. And for good reason - with his wife and child murdered because he'd been too cocky for his own good, his only drive to live was the one he had gunning for Red John. For his capture and death by Jane's hands, if he had his way.<p>

But now the team could somehow relate to that need. Before, they could only assume to know what drove Jane to do what he did. But after a few encounters, each member of the team could now understand the rage. The vengeful need. The want for retribution.

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><p>Grace wanted it because of what Red John's deciet had done to her life. She'd actually believed that Craig had been a good man. She'd almost married him. And then she had to shoot him in order to save herself, Lisbon, and Hightower's family. That level of hurt made the normally even-tempered Grace angry enough to maim.<p>

Rigsby wanted it because of what Red John's toying had done to Grace. He'd been upset that she was marrying Craig, but that was just a little jealousy talking. He'd first and foremost wanted Grace to be happy. To know that Red John had played her so thoroughly made Rigsby consider murder.

Cho wanted it because of what Red John's actions had done to his friends. Even though he didn't show much emotion, he still felt angry and vengeful against the man who'd hurt his friends. The after-effects were always present, scars that Cho could see even when the others tried to hide them. To know that they were so hurt because of Red John did to them made Cho consider torture.

Lisbon wanted it because of what Red John's very presence was doing to Jane. It grew with every passing day, with each case they encountered him on, and in the undercurrents of the whole team's dynamic. She was afraid of what the resulting trauma would do to the blond-haired mentalist. To know that Jane lived with the knowledge that he'd end a man's life because of Red John's twisted game made Lisbon mad enough to kill.

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><p>They each had their own reasons for catching Red John. Personal, professional, emotional, and undoubtedly all incredibly selfish. But now they were all bonded by something deeper than blood and stronger than steel.<p>

Not that they ever share that with anyone, including each other.

So while everyone knew Jane's obsession, nobody knew what really drove the rest of Lisbon's team.

After all, secrets are best kept when nobody speaks about them, and nobody knows but you.

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	5. Plan

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #4: Plan - She doesn't know why she bothers asking anymore.**

**Words: 500**

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><p>"Lisbon, I need you to trust me. Please?"<p>

She gave him a dry look. "Why on earth should I do that? Your hair-brained schemes have a tendency to result in angry suspects and my ass on the line."

Blue eyes rolled at her words. "Oh come on, they're not all that bad."

"Yes they are!" she insisted. _Why won't this stupid man see that his schemes always end with somebody important being angry?_

Jane gave her that charming smile. "All right, name five times it's gone badly."

Lisbon didn't hesitate. "First case we had. Then that time with the mafia boss. And that thing with your former therapist, and Kristina Frye, and anything having to do with Red John or psychics."

His smile didn't waver, but his eyes dimmed a little. "That's more than five, Lisbon."

It had been below the belt to mention Red John and Frye, but he had to know. "Repitition is good for growing children," she fired back. "Especially the rebellious ones."

"You wound me, Lisbon." He put a hand over his heart mockingly. "I can't believe you think of me as a child."

She crossed her arms. "Get to the point, Jane. Tell me what's going on."

Jane's charm smile switched back on like a light. "Can't tell you. I have to show you." His phone was out and up to his ear before the sentance was finished. "Hello, Mrs. Benson? Yes, this is Patrick Jane from the CBI. There's been a development." Lisbon made to correct him, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I need you to tell your family that you're coming here. Don't tell them why. Yes, of course I'll explain when you get here. Thank you."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow as he hung up. "And what was the point of that, if I may ask?"

"Patience, Lisbon, is a virtue."

"Coming from a man who plays with all seven vices on a daily basis, I'm okay being a little impatient," she shot back. "C'mon, out with it. Why call Mrs. Benson here?"

His cerulean eyes practically glowed with his glee. "Because if I'm right, one of her vicious, crooked little brood is our killer." Before she could berate him, Jane took off, no doubt to brew a cup of tea for the upcoming excitement.

Lisbon rolled her eyes and headed for Wainwright's office. If her hunch played out, she might have to warn the boss that something would undoubtedly make a lot of noise in a very short time.

Jane had a plan. She knew that. Four years of working with him, she knew at least in what direction his mind had a tendency of working towards.

His sharing skills just hadn't developed as much as her Jane-reading skills have.

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	6. Smiley

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #5: Smiley - "That's not healthy, Jane. Not after all this time."**

***Edited to correct a repeat. This word fits it better anyway.**

**Words: 932**

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><p>"Jane?"<p>

Who's calling me? I open my heavy eyes; makes sense, the first night I seem to want to sleep is the night I get woken up.

"Jane?"

What asinine person disturbs people at...what time is it? I look at my clock. Two-thirty AM?

"Jane, you awake?"

Now I am. And now that I am, it sounds like Lisbon is my late-night intruder.

Somebody had better be dead.

_Wait_...

"Jane?"

My tired brain finally wakes up.

_Wait, Lisbon?_

Oh god. Why is she here? I sit up on my mattress, eyes wide as I realize what likely route she'll take to find me. She can't find me in here. She can't!

"Jane, answer me!"

She's starting to sound concerned. Plucking the wrinkles from my suit, I scramble for my bedroom door and hurry into the hallway. She can't see this. Nobody can. Never.

She's startled to see me blocking the stairwell. Can't say I blame her. I must look a mess, all disheveled from sleeping in my suit and disoriented. But I can hide it. I always do.

"Lisbon, I didn't know you moonlight as a house-breaker," I say smoothly, flashing my smile at her. "I didn't hear you kick down the door. You must've picked the lock, right?"

Her face has this twisted smile on it, like she's sucking her favorite flavor of a sour candy. "Your bad habits have rubbed off on me enough, yes," she admits. "Were you asleep?"

"Yes." No sense lying to her. Maybe the truth will make her go away.

"Good. You should sleep more."

Her eyes are beautiful in the dim light, her pale skin reflecting the ambient glow of the streetlights outside and making her seem somewhat...ghostly. She hasn't slept well in a while herself. She ought to take better care of herself...

I'm rambling. Thoughts went rambling, and now she's gone.

Wait, gone? Gone where?

There! There's a creak upstairs behind...

_Oh God, she's going - _"Lisbon, no!" I shout, running back up the stairs for the room. The room.

She can't go in there. She can't see. She can't!

I'm on the second floor. It's just in front of me. I just have to -

"Jane, what is this?"

Damn. She's already through the door. I take the last few seconds I have to compose myself, placing on the mask I wear every day in front of her.

She can't see this other side of me. It wouldn't do. She's not good at dealing with any other side of me. I don't want to make her uncomfortable.

I don't want her to care. I don't want to hurt her.

Her back is to me. She's looking at it. I know she is. For once I wish I could actually read minds, not just faces and body language. It would help me know what she's thinking. Lisbon's easy to read when I can see her face. Back of her head? Not so much.

"Jane?" I straighten up when she says my name. She turns around, her jade green eyes only holding one question. "Why?"

So many reasons.

It keeps me centered. It keeps me sane. It keeps me focused. It keeps me driven.

But the main reason is the one I actually tell her.

"Because it's all I have left of them."

I've lost everything else. Photographs, clothes, fingerpaintings, toys - they were all taken, or thrown away. Nothing is left in this house to remind me of my wife, or my daughter. Nothing but that face, painted in their blood. I know it's grisly and morbid and unhealthy, but it's the only thing left of them.

I lost Angela and Charlotte once. I'm not about to lose them again.

Lisbon watches me with that intent expression of hers. Then she looks at the smiley face. It's no longer fresh, the blood dried brown and cracking at the edges. But it's still a horrifying reminder of what had happened in this room.

I brace myself for her temper, but it never comes. Instead she says, "How long?"

"Since it happened," I reply truthfully.

Her eyes flick to the smiley face again, then back to me. She seems to be making a decision.

"Lisbon?" I ask her.

She takes two steps to stand in front of me. Even though she's small, she's fiesty. Like Tinkerbell's brown-haired, gun-toting, badass sister. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To my place. You can sleep on my couch or in the guest room."

"Why?"

That glare of "Don't argue with me, Jane" suddenly appears. "Because I say so, and if you don't, I'll shoot you and make you stay in the hospital overnight."

I want to argue, but I'm too tired. So I just let her pull me along. I can argue when I'm conscious.

Besides, she's actually willingly inviting me to her place. I can use this as blackmail.

But for the time being, I'll welcome an actual bed.

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><p><strong>I wondered what would happen if Lisbon ever found the smiley face in Jane's house (can't remember if it ever happened in the show). This came out of it.<strong>

**Review please!**


	7. Palace

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #6: Palace - His memory palace was extensive and detailed - especially when it came to everything he knew about Lisbon.**

**Words: 1,076**

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><p>Every con man had a memory palace. It's an important part of his life. The better the palace, the more information he can retain and call upon at a moment's notice.<p>

Without a memory palace, he can forget the lies he tells people and mix up his stories. His con would unravel because he can't keep his stories straight. And once the marks get wise, the con is blown. Which is why the memory palace must be as detailed and precise as possible.

Patrick Jane's palace is a Midwest carnival circuit he used to travel with his father. Not the best memories attached to it, but it worked for his purposes. Every stop, every tent, every inch of his memory palace had information crammed along every surface. He's designated certain places in his palace for certain people, places, or memories. For example, his memories of his father were placed firmly in that awful city where they did their "Boy Wonder" routine on that sick girl. Memories of Angela were at the stop where his and Angela's paths first crossed. He'd been just starting to break away from carnie life and his father; she had the mindset, but needed someone to run with. All their memories were stockpiled in that town, and that's where they stayed. Memories of Charlotte were located throughout the fairway. So on and so forth.

Since coming to the CBI, Jane has been modifying his memory palace. His past life he could equate with the carnival route, but that was in the past. He'd utilize it for little things because it's the most familiar place to him. Like with playing cards, or recalling a whole slew of information in a very short time. But like many rich fat cats, Jane realized the practicality of having two places of residence. Or, in this case, two memory palaces.

His second palace is the CBI headquarters. Appropriate, since he spent most of his waking hours there. He knows the building better than most of the veteran agents. And as the place was big and detailed and vivid in his mind, he could use it to store all the information he had on the agents he interacted with on a daily basis. And each of his characters were vivid enough to stick out.

The mail-room clerks and the security goons were always on the lower levels in their respective areas of work, soldier ants and worker bees toiling away. The janitorial staff was firmly placed along specific spots in the halls and always near the supply closets. Wainwright, viewed as a nerd with a cowlick and coke-bottom glasses, had the spare office farthest from the bullpen; Jane really couldn't see him in the boss's office where Minelli and Hightower had resided. Minelli still milled around his old office, a king wearing a broken red crown, while the Red Queen Hightower had the office on the second floor.

But Lisbon's team was special. They had their own places in the bullpen, their desks spacious enough to hold every bit of information Jane needed to recall at any given moment.

Grace van Pelt. Sweet, cute little newbie, now marked up with pain and anguish and the weight of murder on her soul. Jane saw her as a black swan with a tiny silver tiara and broken red-tipped wings. She sat atop her desk, sullen and wary, the desktop scuffed up and somewhat in disarray because of the pain of her recent traumas. But Jane was confident she'd recover. Grace always showed a strong aptitude for bouncing back. That swan would fly again.

Wayne Rigsby. Big, fun-loving and just a little dense, now older and wiser in the ways of the world. Jane saw him as a harlequin boy with red devil's wings on his back. He had his own secrets locked in those desk drawers, secrets he never wanted to share with others. His temper, his father, his fear of intimacy, those were all hidden beneath his goofy smile and the jokes he cracked. The smile had dimmed as of late, but Jane knew it would return. Rigsby was tough like that. The boy would chuckle again.

Kimball Cho. Stoic and silent, not much change outside but definitely changed. Jane saw him as a stone soldier wearing a mirror-mask and bearing a tattered red standard. He'd come a long way from the Playboys, and he tried to keep his own demons out of the workforce. His desk burst with those emotions he never showed, straining at the locks he used to hide them away. His standard was little more than a rag on a stick and his mask was cracking more now, but Jane was confident that they'd be repaired. The soldier would remain strong.

That left Lisbon. Teresa Lisbon. A tiara-less princess in pink who wore combat boots and had two guns concealed under her tulle skirt. That's how he saw her, ever since she wore Van Pelt's bridesmaid gown and he'd been struck speechless at how beautiful she looked. She sulked in her office, which was bursting with the paperwork and knickknacks that made up every bit of information Jane had ever learned about her. She'd been knocked down and kicked around more times than Jane was comfortable admitting to knowing, and sometimes he'd see a shred of resignation on her face that didn't match his perception of the kick-ass princess he'd come to care for. But he never worried. The princess wouldn't give up so easily.

They were all doing their very best to return to themselves. Van Pelt, healing the wings of her heart. Rigsby, trying to regain his laugh. Cho, fixing his stoic mask. Lisbon, being so utterly and completely Lisbon that he was torn between taking her in his arms and tearing her a new one.

Patrick Jane reclined in his couch and glanced over at his team lazily, smiling a half-smile of sad pride at their attempts.

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><p>What he didn't notice was that Lisbon was watching him.<p>

What he didn't know was what she saw him as in her own memory palace.

A magician with bloody red gloves and eyes the color of the sea.

And if she had her way, he would never know.

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><p><strong>Here we go! For your patience, a double update!<strong>

**Review please!**


	8. File

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #7: File - She'd found out bits and pieces of his past from his own admissions, but the big picture was always a bit hazy to see.**

**Words: 1,143**

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><p>Teresa Lisbon didn't like unanswered questions. They annoyed her more than being lied to or played with by a certain mentalist.<p>

She especially hated unanswered questions about that self-same mentalist.

Touching her lip in thought, she regarded the file folder resting on her desk in front of her. The black Sharpie name scrawled along the tab was unmistakable. As were the names on the last two folders.

Patrick Jane.

This case had been delicate, to say the least. A sickly child had been left as a witness to a murder, and Jane had reacted strangely. More like avoided her like she had the plague. Lisbon thought it had been because she'd been hooked up to a variety of machines (truth be told, she'd felt awkward during the interview herself) but realized that he'd been fine at the hospital. Something about the girl had spooked the usually calm mentalist.

Lisbon leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Most of the information in the folders was from his time at the CBI, complaints and case notes and mentions of his talents and tricks for future bosses. Three sets of handwriting - Minelli, Hightower, and Wainwright - highlighted the finer points of Jane's eccentricities.

But Lisbon knew all this from working with him for years. What she didn't know as well what the Patrick Jane from before he joined the CBI as a consultant. The Jane before Red John waltzed in, got insulted, and took out his rage on Jane's family. The Jane who hadn't lived for revenge against a sick, sadistic serial killer.

Reaching forward, Lisbon picked up the slimmest file of the trio. This one was a medical file, purloined at great personal risk to herself and her relationship to Jane. A file that detailed an event that he'd worked very hard to keep from going public.

His file from the institution, courtesy of Sophie Miller.

The psychologist had given it to Lisbon after the Senior Agent had called in a favor. Jane's hunt for Red John was beginning to scare Lisbon, both in its increased tenacity and his disturbingly calm acceptance that he'd have to commit murder or die in the end. When she'd called up Sophie for advice, Sophie had hand-delivered his file to the senior agent. "Maybe you can help him more than I could," she'd said. "He needs something to keep him stable."

She opened the file and started to read it. His basic information was listed - male, widowed, suffering from severe psychological trauma at finding the butchered bodies of his wife and daughter. Anger at Red John. Guilt for provoking him. Shame for bringing that demon into his life and into his home.

And vengeance. A thirst for vengeance that had frightened Sophie.

Lisbon shut the file, unable to read anymore. Shoving it under a pile of other folders, she rubbed her eyes tiredly. She knew this file wouldn't tell her anything she didn't already know or suspect. So it wasn't helpful to her.

But maybe she knew another way.

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><p>"Well hey there, Pepper!"<p>

She smiled at the familiar nickname as she walked up to the trailer. "Hey there, Sam."

"Been a while since you been snoopin' round the fair," said Sam. "Danny do somethin' stupid again?"

"Nope. Actually, I'm here about Patrick." Saying Jane's first name was odd for Lisbon, but she worked past it. She was here for answers. "About his life before he ran off with Angela."

Sam regarded her carefully. "Don't know what I can tell you. Don't know much."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Maybe it's because I've been with Jane for so long, but I can tell you're lying."

"Damn, Pepper's learned some skill," breathed Sam. Gesturing to her trailer, she led the agent inside and shut the door. "Fine. I know a fair bit. But why should I tell you this?"

"I know I'm not carney, but he's my friend." Lisbon swallowed before continuing. "Jane's life. Before he married his wife. What was it like?"

"Hard," was the instant reply. "His daddy, Alex, had a "Boy Wonder" psychic act with the fair. He'd make Patrick hussle the crowd, cold read 'em and got the blindfold scam down pat. But that wasn't Alex's only con." Shifty eyes darted nervously.

Lisbon understood why. "None of this will ever come back to you, or Jane. It's just for me."

Sam nodded slowly. "See, Alex would promote this healing crystal - just a hunk of quartz, pretty but a paperweight at best - in every town they hit. Made Patrick help him fleece sick and dying folks out of their money. Poor boy had no choice in the matter."

A sick feeling of dread coiled in Lisbon's belly as the pieces fell in place with dull clangs. "He ever run the con on a dying girl?"

"That's the one that made him start contemplatin' leavin', yeah. How did you know?"

"This case we had, the victim's daughter had seen the murder happen. She has cancer. Jane avoided her like it was contagious."

Sam gave another tired nod. "That'd do it. Loves children, that man does. Always hated what he did to that poor child, but he took his cut of the money from his old man."

"He had to survive," Lisbon agreed. If Sam had expected her to condemn Jane, she was sorely mistaken. Alex Jane sounded like a malicious and cruel SOB, and if Jane needed the money in order to get away, then she wasn't about to take the moral high ground with him. She gave Sam a grateful nod and smile. "Thank you."

"Pepper?" Sam looked...was she pleading? "He's hurt for a long time, Pepper. Don't let him hurt anymore."

Lisbon nodded. "I won't, Sam. I promise."

Once in her car, she plugged in the address of Jane's Malibu home into her GPS and drove on autopilot. She walked up the steps to the front door, took a breath, and knocked sharply on the door.

Jane looked lost, half-asleep, and absolutely frumpy when Lisbon saw him open his door. His question was obvious as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and tried pulling wrinkles from his suit.

She merely stared at him and said, "Sam told me about that girl."

His eyes slowly slid closed, masking the guilt and pain she'd seen for a split second. And he opened the door to let her enter.

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><p><strong>Always wondered what would happen in this type of scenario. Hope it wasn't too OOC.<strong>

**Review please!**


	9. Hole

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist. _I will, however, claim ownership of my OC, Coraline Jane.**

**Prompt #8: Hole - He'd fallen hard from those carefree times as a charlatan. But he'd been making amends as he made the climb back up.**

**Words: 716**

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><p>"Once a con man, always a con man."<p>

Lisbon glanced over at the blonde consultant as she drove. "What was that?"

"Thomas Langston. He wants to change so badly, but he knows he can never fully give up his conman ways," explained Jane. "At least he's honest about it now. His girlfriend knows exactly what she's getting herself into. Dating a professional liar."

"You're such a cynic," Lisbon sighed, returning her gaze to the road.

"Oh please, this is the classic pot-calling-kettle-black situation playing out, right here," Jane insisted, gesturing to him and her in that insufferable way of his.

"Stuff it. You know it's not that bad. You married your wife."

"Angela knew what she was getting into the moment she met me," Jane replied. "She knew carney, and she could read me well enough to call me out on my bullshit."

"True enough," Lisbon nodded. "So can I."

Jane scoffed. "Yeah right."

"You'd be surprised."

"I will admit that you've gotten better, but you're not a master, Lisbon."

She threw him a cocky grin. "As long as I can tell when you're about to con me, that's mastery enough."

"I don't believe you."

He said it so offhandedly, she could believe that he thought he meant it. But employing her Jane senses, Lisbon could tell that he was a little wary of this new information. And why wouldn't he? He had once needed to lie for a living. That would make anyone just a tad paranoid about the intentions of others.

Lisbon was a little sad that he couldn't believe her. Despite her denials, she did trust him a little. Enough to have her back, anyway.

The rest of the car ride was silent as she pondered how to convinve him of that.

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><p>It was later in the week that a visitor arrived at the CBI to see Lisbon. She recognized the person, so she took the meeting in her office.<p>

"Been a while," she said.

"Just a year," said Coraline.

"Happy birthday, by the way."

"Twelve years old isn't that big an anniversary," said the reddish-blond girl. "Sixteen's when Uncle Patrice will really have his hands full finding a present for me."

Mentioning Jane made Lisbon think about the conversation she'd had with him earlier that week. "Cora, can you tell when your uncle's lying to you?"

"On average? Maybe seventy percent of the time," she hedged. "Why?"

"Is he always so sure that con men can't be read?"

"Yup." Coraline sat in her chair and fixed Lisbon with teal-blue eyes as wise as any adult's. "But you're a rare case, Lisbon. You can read through his lies. Sometimes."

"Jane disgrees."

Coraline shrugged. "He likes his own lies a bit too much, sometimes. He doesn't like being exposed. I'm pretty sure there are things he doesn't even tell me."

"How do you deal with it?" Lisbon asked curiously.

Her smile was warm and trusting. "The same way you do. You know he'll give up his secrets on his own time." She glanced through Lisbon's window to where Jane was dozing on his couch. "He's dropped from higher heights, and he's trying to crawl his way back up. He thinks he can do it alone, but I like to be standing by with a rope and trampoline if he slips."

Lisbon's eyebrow rose. "Trampoline?"

"What? They bounce."

The senior agent grinned and slanted her own glance to her consultant. She'd seen how hard he was climbing back up from where he'd been, his path of redemption as it were, and how he always brushed off any type of help.

But as Cora had said, he gave up secrets in his own time. Lisbon was patient. She knew, sooner or later, Jane would see it her way.

Even if she had to tug on his waistcoat to make him squat to her eye level.

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><p><strong>Didn't think Coraline would show up here, but she added a little bit of flair to it, I think.<strong>

**Review please!**


	10. Carnival

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #9: Carnival - Lisbon found herself curious about his childhood one day, so she asked him about it.**

**Words: 752**

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><p>She'd had a thought that it might be a bad idea to take him along, but they had no choice. The setting and the witnesses were his particular flavor of people and place.<p>

Carnival folk.

Jane was obviously more than a bit agitated at being thrust into the world he'd escaped years before. He kept fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat when he was absolutely certain that nobody saw him, a clear sign of his nerves. Lisbon pretended not to notice and all but dragged him towards a group of carney folk.

As expected, he managed to get them to open up faster than any policeman had accomplished. Carney knew their own, even a runaway like Jane, and apparently they knew his father well enough. There were quite a few mentions of Alex Jane and his clever schemes, bringing some measure of discomfort into Jane's clear blue eyes that never made it onto his face. But no matter how much she burned to question him, Lisbon didn't ask at the scene.

Once they finished talking to everyone, Lisbon took Jane back to CBI headquarters, sat him on his couch, and made him a cup of strong tea. His surprise showed at her thoughtfulness, not to mention her patience in making the cup just the way he likes it. "I sense that you're about to interrogate me, my dear Lisbon," he said as he took a sip. "Resorting to bribery is a new tactic, though."

She didn't bother denying it. Some things are better left uncontested. Lisbon sat next to him and gave him a look. "So...your dad?"

His eyes clouded again with several conflicting emotions - mainly hate and disgust, and buried beneath it all, a trace of respect and a hint of the love a son always holds for a father. Setting his cup down on the desk, Jane leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So that's your game."

Sensing him about to shut down, she hastened to back her play. "Don't you dare take the moral high ground. You resort to similar tactics."

"Not to friends."

"Liar."

"Liar?"

"Pants on fire," she finished smugly.

Jane shot her a tired and truly angry look. _Good, _she thought. _Anger is good. Anger means you're bothering to listen to me_. She didn't break eye contact, matching steely blue with burning green. "Watch it, Teresa," he said in a low, warning tone. "You might not like what you find under that rock you're trying to look under."

"You can't scare me off so easily, Jane," she fired back.

He inhaled through his nose, slowly, as if trying to rein in his tongue and temper. Tired blue eyes slid shut. "Please, Teresa," he whispered with a hint of pleading, "don't do this. Not now."

"Now is exactly when we have to do it," she insisted, recognizing a Jane defense tactic when she saw it. "I won't let you talk your way out or push it aside for later. I have to know exactly what your past is so that we're not blindsided later on." When he showed more signs of balking Lisbon played her trump card. "I already know about the dying girl you conned with the so-called 'healing crystal'. What else could he have made you do?"

Jane's eyes were hard as crystals. "Do you really want to know that?"

"Yes."

That threw him. For the first time in all her knowing him, Patrick Jane was utterly stunned and he didn't bother to hide it. Lisbon settled against the comfortable leather couch, folded her arms, and gave him a look that clearly said _Start talking_.

When he regained the use of his voice, Jane said, "Understand this, Lisbon. I - I never had anyone else. It was just him and me."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Jane," she assured him. "I won't ask anything else. I just want to know about your father."

He must have believed her, because after a few more minutes of thought and deep breathing, Jane started to tell his earliest childhood story to her. And true to her word, Lisbon didn't voice a single question as he kept talking long into the night.

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	11. Relating

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #10: Relating - ****He's always had a gift with children. Fatherly instincts never truly fade.**

**Words: 1,133**

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><p>"You left Jane alone with the victim's three children?" Wainwright was not happy, to say the least. "Three traumatized children who witnessed their mother bleed out over the floor of their bedroom, and you let Jane take them out of your sight?"<p>

Lisbon rolled her lips tight to catch them in her teeth, sealing in the words she wanted to throw at her boss. "Sir, he has a way with children," she said instead. "I trust him around them alone more than I do with adults."

"The father could sue for harrassment!"

"Which will not happen because Jane will do no such thing," Lisbon insisted. "He adores children. He'd rather shoot himself then let anything happen to a child."

Wainwright's lips pursed as he thought. "That's right. He would possess a degree of survivor's guilt that would be directed at children around the age of his own daughter."

_You're so lucky Jane's nowhere in earshot, _Lisbon thought with some anger. Hearing this boy-faced man speak so clinically of the hell that Jane felt every day made her want to punch him. Hard.

"But that's no excuse for letting him take them out of their father's line of sight!" Wainwright added. "Where is he now?"

"In the bullpen playing with Emma," Lisbon said, naming the eldest daughter. "Billy and Marcie are napping on his couch. They're fine, I promise."

Wainwright leveled the finger of authority and command in that general direction. "Get him away from them, now!"

"Sir, just give him some time," Lisbon said patiently. "If the kids saw anything, he'll get them to talk, trust me."

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><p>"Gin!"<p>

Jane whistled as Emma showed her cards for authentication. "Wow, you're good," he said with a grin. "You sure this is your first time playing?"

"Uh huh," said the five-year-old girl, smiling back proudly. "Mommy says I have good luck because I'm a redhead."

"That's right, redheads have Irish luck," Jane agreed as he shuffled the cards. "Bet you get lucky a lot of ways."

Emma's smile dimmed slightly. "Sometimes. Mama calls me a lucky charm."

Treading carefully, Jane gave her a proud smile. "You love your mother, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You'd do anything to help your mother, right?"

Emma nodded. "Yes."

Jane leaned forward slightly, tilting his blonde head. "Did you see the man who hurt your mother?"

The little girl swallowed hard, looking worriedly at her sleeping younger siblings. "Can't say," she whispered.

"Why not?"

She made a zipper pull across her lips. "Promised. Secret."

_Which meant that she knew who did it, possibly,_ Jane thought. "Did Mommy make you promise?" he asked. "Or Daddy?"

"Mommy," she replied promptly.

_Which only confirms my hunch about an affair,_ he thought. "Do Billy and Marcie know?"

"No. Only me." Emma seemed very proud about being the only one tasked with keeping this secret.

"Did Mommy's secret have anything to do with how she got hurt?"

Emma bit her lip. "Maybe?" she said hesitantly.

Jane gave her a reassuring smile. "I promise you, pinky promise, that if you tell me, I won't tell anyone else." He put up his pinky to show how serious he was. "And if you tell me, I can get who hurt your Mommy."

"How?" she asked.

"Because that's what me and my friends do," Jane said. "We catch bad people who hurt Mommys."

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><p>"A mermaid hurt her mother." Wainwright sounded skeptical, to say the least. "Are you serious, Jane?"<p>

Jane gave the young boss his best shit-eating grin. "Obviously you don't spend a lot of time with kids, Wainwright. The murderer was obviously a woman."

"What made her think it was a mermaid?" asked Lisbon, already seeing how this case could be busting wide open.

"Because the killer wore a floor-length dress with sequins. It can look like a mermaid's tail if you're looking from between the shutters of a closet door." Jane said this as if it was common knowledge. "And only one person was wearing a dress like that."

Lisbon snapped her fingers when it came to her. "The lover's wife. Elena Richards. She wore a sequined red dress that had ruffles at the bottom."

But Wainwright shook his head. "We're not arresting a prominant fundraiser's wife based on Jane's twisting of a child's traumatic memory. We need concrete proof."

The brunette agent could see Jane getting angry at this casual dismissal and quickly spoke up. "Sir, all due respect, we don't have to arrest her. We can just ask her to come in for questioning."

"And what good could that do?"

"If Emma can identify her as she walks by, then we know it was Elena in the room."

Wainwright shook his head again. "Not happening."

Jane looked at Lisbon. She could see his fatherly protective instincts rebelling against this, but his brain knew this was the only course of action. Seeing him at war with himself made Lisbon add, "Jane can stay with her. She trusts him, and he can look after her."

Outnumbered, Wanwright frowned but acquiested. When he began to make some calls, Lisbon and Jane headed back towards the bullpen to get Emma.

"My daughter," Jane said suddenly.

Lisbon looked over. "What?"

"Charlotte had an overactive imagination, so she could see the world in a different way," he explained. "I had to learn how to see through her eyes. A mermaid has no feet, just a shimmery tail, so the dress had to cover the woman's feet and be shimmery."

She smiled. "You're really good with kids, Jane."

"I've been told."

"No, you really are. It's sweet."

Jane looked at her in shock for a split second before his customary Jane grin returned. "And you'd be an excellent mother, Lisbon. Never taking any guff from your kids, always keeping them in line - "

"How do you think I got that good?" Now Lisbon was smiling widely. "I have this perpetual child as my consultant who helps me hone my skills."

He bowed to her grandly. "I exist to serve, dear Lisbon."

"All right, Jane, stuff the sheep dip and let's get this party started."

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	12. Tears

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist _or the episode "Fugue in Red."**

**Prompt #11: Tears - It's tough being tough on a day-to-day bases. It's even tougher to be vulnerable when you just want to cry.**

**Words: 748**

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><p>She knew it was the only way to bring him back.<p>

But it didn't mean that she liked doing it.

The old Patrick Jane - the con man, the shameless grifter who exploited people by making them think he was actually "psychic" - she hated him. She couldn't stand him. It was only the knowing that deep beneath that fugue state rested her Jane, the somewhat more honest con man who'd been trying to make amends, that kept her from socking the blonde-haired man in the face. Multiple times.

As he walked down the hallway towards that door, Lisbon wanted to stop him. Pull him back. Drag him out of the house and let him live his life without knowing that horror, that pain, that pressing need for revenge that threatened to destroy him.

But she couldn't. If their positions were reversed, Jane would have done exactly the same thing. She knew it. He'd want her back.

Jane hated what he'd been before he'd had his family. He'd hated what he did to people. Lisbon could never forgive herself if she let him go down that road again. So she had to show him. She needed to give him an anchor back in his present reality, not his past.

Nothing anchored him like his hate for Red John. Nothing centered him like the hunt for Red John. Nothing was strong enough to get him back to the person Lisbon knew, and respected, and cared for, than the thrall of his relentless search for a man who'd destroyed that shiny con man's shields and left behind a wreck.

Jane stopped at the closed door, then looked back. Blue eyes were confused at her sadness, wondering why she looked ready to cry. But curiosity made him look down again and grasp the doorknob, twisting it open and pushing the door inside. Lisbon could only imagine what he saw; the bare room, the mattress where he slept when he bothered to return to this empty house, and the dried brown smiley face on the wall that served as the constant reminder of why he stayed at the CBI.

Why he caught killers. Why he continued to live. Why he didn't just go crazy and leave them all behind.

Red John.

Watching Jane remember was like watching him age years in seconds. He reeled on his feet, his shoulders dropping ever-so-slightly with an unseen but familiar weight. He looked ready to collapse, but some strength kept him upright. One hand rose, just a few inches, to touch the doorframe as if to steady himself.

Lisbon forced herself to speak, to say something, but all she could come up with was, "I'm sorry."

He didn't react to her words, just stood in the doorway and continued to revert back to his normal self before her eyes. She felt like the worst sort of person for doing this to him. Biting her lip, Lisbon sucked in a breath and took one step towards Jane.

"Don't." That one word, spoken in a tired voice, stopped her from approaching further.

But she couldn't just leave him there. "Jane?" she ventured.

"Lisbon."

That's when she knew for sure. Con man Jane had only ever called her Teresa. Her Jane had called her Lisbon from the day they first met. "Yeah?"

He turned back to her, half of his face lit by the light. "I - I just..." he started to say, but the words stopped in his throat. Pain, raw and clear, was making his eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Lisbon, I - "

Lisbon quickly moved to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't want to," she said softly. "God, I wish I didn't have to. But you couldn't keep living like that, Jane."

Jane looked down at her, swallowing down his tears. "I understand, Lisbon. Thank you." He stepped out of the doorway (meaning he invaded her personal space in a way that, under normal circumstances, would have been cause for coarse words) and pulled the door shut again.

Lisbon noticed his discomfort and slipped her arm through his. "Let's get out of here," she said.

A shadow of his usual smile graced his face. "Lead the way, milady."

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><p><strong>Needed a tag for "Fugue in Red" because it broke my heart when it ended like that!<strong>

**Review please!**


	13. Even

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_ or episode 4x10 "Fugue in Red". Shame, I'd like to hang with Jane.**

**Prompt #12: Even - Situation: Showing up at a cop's door with ice cream and chocolate. Chance of entrance: 50/50 depending on her mood.**

**Words: 863**

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><p>He'd really screwed up this time.<p>

Jane knew it. He knew it and, worst of all, he couldn't talk his way out of it.

Fugue state or not, he'd really crossed a good couple lines with Lisbon and the team. Lines that he'd tried very hard not to tread near for a good many years. He respected the people he worked with, and he never wanted to subject them to his conniving con man ways for his own pleasure. Okay, so he teased at times, but he never out-and-out pushed and tricked and manipulated. He left those pleasures for the suspects they encountered. At least he only saw them once or twice and it was for a good cause.

But the things he'd pulled while in that fugue state...could they ever forgive him?

Well, Grace would. Sweet, kindhearted Grace, no matter how damaged, would know that he was a completely different person. Rigsby would nurse his wounded pride for a few days, but he'd come around as well. Cho would probably hold out for a solid week just to torture him.

But Lisbon? Well, after bringing him back to reality via Red John's mark, she hadn't spoken to him unless it was absolutely necessary. No banter, no quips, not even an exasperated groan of his name to rein him back from doing stupid and reckless things. It was very unsettling.

Then again, he'd groped her ass and thought they'd slept together. Then he kept calling her Teresa.

Teresa. Not Lisbon.

That was dangerous, and he knew it. Teresa denoted closeness, familiarity, affection. Jane couldn't believe he'd done what he'd done, even in jest.

Hell, after almost eight years with the woman he still couldn't muster up the courage to call her by her first name. She'd be liable to shoot him.

So he'd come to _Lisbon's_ apartment, bearing her favorite ice cream and a whole carton of chocolate-dipped strawberries. Yeah, he's pulling out all the stops on this one. He wants her forgiveness, and he wants it bad.

A series of quick knocks on her door left Jane standing outside like the worst type of fool. Biting his lip, his eyes kept focused on the curtains of her sliding door for any telltale signs of movement. This was the moment of truth. If she let him in, he was sure he could earn her forgiveness. If she merely peeked out and told him to buzz off, he had a slightly better shot than a snowball in Hell.

If she completely ignored him, he was SOL and nothing on this green earth would ever make her take him back.

_Oh god, _he thought with something akin to horror. _I sound like a sap. A sappy boyfriend. Jeez_. He snaps back to reality when he notices the barest flutter of movement in the curtains. Lisbon is there, peering through the fabric to see who it was. Knowing he only has moments, he opens his mouth - and completely loses his smirk and his carefully-planned speech when she rips the curtains back.

She'd been crying. His Lisbon had been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy, and there are tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. She's wearing her jersey and has no shoes or socks on. It looks like she'd been crying for a while.

Was it because of him? Possibly. Could he fix it? He'd sure as hell try.

"What do you want?" Lisbon says in a wispy, almost broken voice.

Again, Jane loses his carefully-plotted train of thought. She's never sounded like that in front of him before. He held up the ice cream and strawberries up and said stupidly, "Want to eat some comfort food?"

"Why in God's name should I let you in?" she asks.

Jane didn't know if she meant into her home or back into her good graces. So he spoke flatly, "Because I'll stay out here all damn night until you let me in, and it looks like it's about to rain. I could get sick, maybe with pneumonia. You can't have that on your conscience. You're not that heartless."

Her eyebrows furrow together angrily. "Wanna bet?"

"Remember, I won ten thousand dollars in poker. And bought you jewelry with it."

"Not helping your case, Jane."

Swallowing hard, he tried to keep the conversation serious and civil. Shooting off his quips would not score him brownie points here. "Lisbon, I truly am sorry. Can I come in and we can talk about it?"

Her eyes are green, so green and vibrant in the glow of the streetlamps. So bright, that Jane has no problem seeing her walls come flying back into place, like watching an explosion on reverse. It's not a heartening sight.

Especially when she opens her mouth, says, "Go away, Jane," and slams the door in his face.

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><p><strong>Ouch! Rejection. Burn, Jane.<strong>

**Review please!**


	14. Desperation

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_, else these two would have kissed already, at least once.**

**Prompt #13: Desperation - It wasn't often that he was scared for Lisbon. To be honest, it terrified him to care so much about her.**

**Words: 1,095**

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><p>"LISBON!"<p>

His scream was drowned out by gunfire as he dropped behind the CBI van. Complete fear gripped his heart when he saw that Lisbon was all alone, pinned down behind a metal container that didn't look thick enough to weather a paintball attack.

"LISBON!"

"Jane, stay down!" Rigsby yelled, slamming his palm between the consultant's shoulder blades to make him face-plant the ground.

Even with his face smashed against the asphalt, Jane would not stay silent. "Lisbon! You okay?"

"I'm fine!" she called out. "Stay there, Jane!" Her voice echoed between bursts of gunfire. "Stay down, Jane! You hear me?"

Even though he knew her words were sound, Jane's body was fighting his instincts for self-preservation. He wanted to bolt over to her side, throw himself over her and keep her safe from the little death slugs that tore through the air and embedded in the junk around her. It was irrational of him, but then again, Jane's rationale had been in question for just about as long as he'd known the brunette CBI agent.

Rigsby ducked and bolted to get a better shot at the shooter, leaving Jane behind the van alone. He slowly edged himself to a better position so as not to get shot, all the while creeping to see Lisbon better. She was still alive, thank god, and giving their shooter what for with her little Sig Sauer.

It happened quickly, but to Jane, it was like time had slowed, like a piece of chewing gum being stretched to its limit. Lisbon popped up to take a shot, and her body was knocked back as a bullet tore through her shoulder, spattering the concrete with blood and staining her shirt with a bright crimson flower. Another shot, and she was knocked flat on her back as another crimson stain blossomed dangerously close to her heart. He watched her fall backwards in slow motion, her eyes wide with shock and pain, then she hit the ground and her eyes slammed shut as the gun went flying from her slack fingertips.

He felt like his heart burst as another scream ripped from his throat. "LISBON!"

And then he saw red, then black, then his world spun out of control.

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><p>For the life of him, Jane couldn't remember how they got to the hospital. The last thing he clearly recalled was seeing Lisbon fall. Everything between then and him waking up in a hospital cot was a blur.<p>

While the team waited for Lisbon to wake up, Cho told him that he'd broke cover and run to Lisbon's side, picked her up, and bolted back for the CBI van. Somehow he'd managed to get a weapon as well, and he'd let loose on the shooter and managed to get two chest shots into the guy. Then he'd tried to fight the paramedics who came to save Lisbon, relenting only when they let him ride with her to the hospital. He'd thrown another fit in the ER, culminating with Rigsby physically restraining him as the paramedics red-lined Lisbon to the OR.

Adrenaline and a psychotic break from reality brought on by the trauma of seeing Lisbon shot, said the doctor who'd come out to check on the disturbance, was what had made Jane so unstable. He'd been given a sedative and put in a room, and when he woke up, Lisbon was resting in the bed beside his.

Jane was deeply ashamed of his behavior. He hadn't had that reaction in a long time, and it was a very big issue that the CBI team had seen this weak side of him. The fact that they took great pains not to talk about it made him irritated rather than grateful. Pasting a fake smile on his face, he thanked them for their concern and asked to be left alone to sleep some more. They filed out after another round of "I'm so glad you're okay"s, leaving the mentalist with his thoughts.

He glanced over at Lisbon, who was sleeping peacefully under sedation. He couldn't understand why she evoked such primal urges in him, and in the most dangerous situations. Self-preservation, rationale, and intellect - all went out the window when Lisbon was in danger. It was like a deeper instinct awakened, an instinct that Jane had no control over, turning him into something else that he didn't understand.

He's lied for her. He's stolen for her. He's killed for her. At least twice. And he'd continue to do so. If need be, he'd sell his soul to the devil to save her.

That level of loyalty, of trust - of care - scared Jane even more than seeing a smiley face drawn with fresh blood. He was on a mission of revenge. Red John was his only reason for living -

_"You're isolating yourself. You're pulling away from us."_

He had to find the son-of-a-bitch and make him pay for killing his family, for killing all those people, for making life a living hell without Angela or Charlotte or -

_"We're family. What you're doing is a kind of betrayal. A surrender. A defeat."_

He had to do it alone. He had to beat that psycho serial killer -

_"You're letting Red John win."_

Jane scowled. _Dammit, Lisbon!_ he thought angrily. _Why won't you let me hate? __Why do you make me care?_

Because Jane knew better than anyone that if you care about something, you run the risk of losing it. And when you lose something you care about, it hurts worse than anything this world could ever physically throw at you.

He'd already lost Angela and Charlotte, and that loss left a deep, scarred hole that still hurt even after eight years. If he lost Lisbon on top of that - he didn't even want to comprehend the pain that would come with that loss.

That's what terrified him. Not just losing Lisbon, but the consequences of losing her.

He'd never recover.

So he pulled back into himself, turned away from Lisbon's peacefully sleeping form, and shut his eyes to try and sleep before the nightmares caught him.

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><p><strong>Yes, I'm alive. This proves it.<strong>

**Review please!**


	15. Frown

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #14: Frown - Her tell was just adorable.**

**Words: 399**

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><p>Patrick Jane likes to lie.<p>

Okay, that's too broad a statement. He likes lying to specific people in order to garner the emotional reactions he wants. He likes to manipulate people into revealing their true selves and then watch as they squirm in discomfort when exposed.

It's a dark gift, and he uses it without restraint. Nobody is safe. Not even Teresa Lisbon, his boss, handler, and kind-of best friend.

Oh, she tries to get back at him. Many times. But the problem is, she's not as gifted in lying as Jane is. You can't outsmart a master.

Besides, her tell is blatantly obvious.

She's got this frown. This little, tiny micro-expression of a frown, that pulls the corners of her lips down and makes a minute furrow between her eyes. It's always there when she tries to pull one over on him, even when she tries to hide it. It's actually kind of adorable that she even tries anymore.

Lying is not good for her. It's the Catholic in her, Jane thinks. She's such a good girl that lying is something that can never come easily.

But then again, that's not entirely true. She can lie. Pretty well, actually. She's even managed to make him believe her long enough.

But she's always guilty about it later. That's her only weakness. The only thing keeping her from being a proficient liar like himself.

Guilt. A conscience. The truth.

He loves to tease her about her lack of deceptive ability, pushing her buttons until she starts to get steamed at him. That's when the frown gets a little deeper, a tad bit more defined. It ceases to be a micro-expression and turns into a real frown.

Whoever said that women are cute when they're mad was a fool. Lisbon, when she's mad, is breathtaking.

Yeah, Patrick Jane is a glutton for punishment. He also likes to lie. But sometimes it's hard to lie to the closest thing you have to a best friend when you just want to say, "You're beautiful."

But Patrick Jane is the best liar. So he can do it without blinking.

Just because he doesn't like to do it doesn't mean he can't do it well.

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><p><strong>Awww, what a teaser.<strong>

**Review please!**


	16. Lonely

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #15: Lonely - Sometimes it becomes too much to bear.**

**Words: 622**

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><p>Human beings are social creatures. They aren't meant to live alone for long periods of time. It's not advisable.<p>

Jane likes pushing that fact to its limits. He's a loner to the _n_th degree. His attic room may as well have a _Do Not Disturb _sign hanging from the knob 24/7. The only things keeping him from withdrawing completely was the necessity of his talents by the CBI.

Lisbon is also a loner, but still craves some human attachments. Her brothers keep her connected to a world she's come to view as dark and full of bad men she has to capture. They're the only things keeping her from retreating into her home and never coming back out.

Nobody really expected them to mesh. Severe loners didn't do meshing. But to everyone's surprise, including thier own, something clicked. Not meshed, but clicked enough.

Instead of completely withdrawing, Jane started to take an interest in Lisbon's personal life. She likewise began to poke around his affairs. They took active interest in each other, and the outcome of those interests was favorable. Cases were closed (despite the complaints piling up) and the team meshed into a cohesive unit.

What the higher-ups hadn't forseen, however, was that as Lisbon and Jane were poking around each other's lives, they weren't actually changing anything. They stayed seperate, apart from working cases and riding out to scenes together.

But humans are social creatures. They cannot stand to be completely alone all the time.

Sooner or later, the need for human contact is too much to ignore.

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><p>Lisbon heard the knocking on her sliding glass door late that night. She looked over at her alarm clock. 12:00. <em>Somebody better be dead,<em> she thought darkly, easing off the couch where she'd nodded off while watching a movie.

Imagine her surprise when she saw the familiar blond curls of her consultant gleaming in the dim light of the streetlamp. Sliding the door open, she grumbled, "What do you want, Jane? It's midnight."

He didn't answer at once, just looked at her. When she decided to look closer, Lisbon could see a little trace of - she didn't want to say hope, but not wanting either. It was as if Jane was praying that she'd let him come inside her home. Which was ridiculous, because he never asked permission. Not unless - _Oh. Wait._

"Nightmare?" she asked, and to her great shock, he gave one tiny nod.

She stepped back and let him inside. Without exchanging another word, they made Lisbon's couch up for Jane to sleep on. He shucked off his suit jacket and shoes while Lisbon went into the kitchen and filled a glass of water for him.

As he was settling on her couch, Lisbon sat on the edge and handed him the glass. "Why here?" she asked.

Jane knew what she meant. He always did. _Why here and not your attic? Why come here? Why come to me?_ Fixing his stunning blues on her, he answered simply, "Needed a friend."

"You don't need anyone," Lisbon replied. "You've said it time and again."

A wry grin twisted his lips. "Fine, I didn't want to be alone tonight."

Her smile was soft in response. "See? That wasn't that hard, was it?" Rising to her feet, she put an extra blanket close to the mentalist and went to lock her front door. "See you in the morning, Jane."

"Good night, Lisbon."

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><p><strong>Meh, not as nice as I'd liked it to be, but it's okay.<strong>

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	17. Sight

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_ or the episodes mentioned.**

**Prompt #16: Sight - He never truly appreciated her beauty until he couldn't see it.**

**Words: 812**

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><p>Patrick Jane didn't usually take things for granted. After Red John tore away his family, he'd learned to treasure everything as best as his broken heart would allow. He'd mask it beneath nonchalance and indifference, but truth be told, Jane cared far too much than was healthy for a man who'd lost his whole world.<p>

One of those things was his sight. Jane always valued his eyes. Reading the tells of simple people, seeing the tiny details of crime scenes, and noticing the little things that other people either can't or won't see, he used his eyes to do his job. So much, in fact, that when he couldn't see people, he felt oddly disconnected from the world.

Ever since he joined the CBI, Jane found himself looking forward to seeing one particular face every day. Teresa Lisbon was a different sort of person, and he was always amused when he was around her. He grew accustomed to seeing her expressive face change with the quickness of a cricket's jump, calm to annoyed to bored and back to annoyed.

It was only when he didn't see that face that Jane realized how much he'd come to appreciate it.

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><p>The first time was when he was blinded by the car bomb.<p>

It struck him then just how much he enjoyed watching her expressions change. He could hear her voice, but his mental picture of her face didn't do her justice. He had to rely on his memories of her reactions, and they were a weak facsimile in comparison to Lisbon's real face.

When she joked about making his superhero costume, he couldn't resist creeping his hand up her arm and neck to feel her smile. He couldn't trust his memory to replicate the expression. If Rigsby hadn't interrupted, he would've been ever so grateful.

Waiting for his eyes to heal had been torture in a myraid assortment of ways. Peeling off the gauze that morning and seeing her face sharpen into focus was one of the best memories of his life because he'd seen something that he hadn't before. True, pure, unadulterated concern for him was in her eyes, and her face was softened from its usual scowl into a look of hopeful worry. He had to resort to a joke to keep from gaping like a fish.

That's when he first noted how much he'd come to appreciate seeing Lisbon.

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><p>The second time was when he was in prison.<p>

She didn't visit often, but when she could, Jane drank in the sight of her. She was still injured from taking down Craig O'Laughlin, her arm in its sling, but she still had all of her fire. She tried to keep his spirits up, even when it was clear that she wasn't entirely sure what he was saying was true. When she left, Jane found himself hoping she'd come back the next day.

When he walked out of the courtroom after tricking the jury into saying not guilty, he met her outside and just stared at her, thankful that he was able to look at her as a free (but maybe not innocent) man. Then he told her the truth (once away from listening ears) and watched her face change into shocked rage. It was a different sort of beauty, but Jane found himself instantly at ease seeing something so familiar once again.

He knew he was in trouble then. He'd grown accustomed to seeing Lisbon's face day in and day out. Now not seeing it was beginning to affect him.

_Damn, I'm getting too attached. She's bad for my heart_.

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><p>Patrick Jane took very little for granted. That list was growing very, very short as the years went on.<p>

One of those few things left was his concept for privacy.

So when he heard the incessant knocking on his front door at ten in the morning, he figured it was some annoying person trying to pitch a sale. Sniffling and coughing, he curled up on his mattress and shivered beneath his blankets, willing whoever it was to go away. Ignoring the door, he figured, would send its own message to the caller.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any ordinary caller at the door.

"Jane? You okay?"

_Aw hell, woman,_ he groaned silently, turning away from the door. _Why can't you just leave me alone when I wanna be sick in peace?_

Never mind the little part of him that snickered, _Come on, admit it. You're grateful she's here. You knew she'd check on you_.

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><p><strong>Not sure how this turned out. Lemme know!<strong>

**Review please!**


	18. Method

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #17: Method - It wasn't always obvious, but after four years, she had to believe it was in there somewhere.**

**Words: 966**

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><p><em>Patrick Jane, world's most insufferable, wiseass, smarter-than-thou know-it-all in the history of mankind.<em>

_That's being kind. He's a madman parading around in a three-piece suit. A trickster hiding behind an angel's golden curls and innocent smile._

_He's going to be the death of me one day, I just know it. Heart attack, stroke, apoplexy, or ulcer. It's really a toss-up at this point._

_But then again, he's always proven that behind his insanity, there is order and reason._

_They wait, just hidden, behind the curtain of madness, waiting for him to cue them onstage_.

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><p>Yet again, Patrick Jane had created another mentalist trap for solving a case. Yet again, he hadn't told Teresa Lisbon about it beforehand, letting her watch as he set up an elaborate ruse that managed to insult several key members of the California political circle and many rich, important people.<p>

And he still had the gall to reassure her that everything would turn out all right?

She tilted her head to the side as she regarded the blond-haired mentalist in front of her. "Could you please explain," she said slowly, trying to keep her temper, "what the hell you were thinking?"

Smiling blithely, Jane gave her a wonderfully amused look. "Just following a hunch, Lisbon," he said. "I'm sure the killer will appear in due time."

"We don't have time for your hairbrained guessing game to produce a suspect!" Lisbon snapped angrily.

His smile became a childish pout. "Don't you trust me, Lisbon?"

"I plead the fifth," was her dry response.

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><p>The case was eventually solved, much thanks to his trap, as per the norm. As per norm, Lisbon had actually no flipping idea what he'd been planning until the very end, when the killer was tricked into revealing himself.<p>

All in all, a good day's work for Patrick Jane.

He reclined on his couch, sipped tea, and glanced over to the brunette senior agent's office. Lisbon was still there, filling out paperwork in triplicate, courtesy of his latest stunt. Jane felt a slight twinge of regret for making her dangerously susceptible to carpal tunnel, but he pushed it aside to get up and refill his cup.

Running into Wainwright put a crimp in that plan. "Mr. Jane, I was just looking for you."

"How nice for you." Since the baby-faced man was between him and his teapot, Jane made a shooing motion. "Please."

"First, a question. How did you know that the victim's spouse was the killer?"

"Spouses are always involved one way or another," Jane replied. "Either they started the events that led to murder, they did the actual murder, they know who did the actual murder, or they try to lie about the murder." He shrugged his shoulder. "Frankly, it was a tad boring to figure out. Totally obvious."

"Which is why Agent Lisbon is filling out paperwork in triplicate regarding the two influencial Congressmen you insulted in the course of your investigation," Wainwright said. "Do you enjoy giving her such grief?"

Jane was spared a response by the arrival of said agent. She looked at her boss and said, quite bluntly, "I get why Jane did what he did, sir. Might not've been the right way to get it done, but with the lack of evidence we had on him, the only way to catch the killer was to trick him into confessing." Turning to Jane, she leveled a finger up at his nose. "You. Get me coffee. Now."

His smile was bright as an incandescant lightbulb. "Yes, ma'am."

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><p><em>He's mad as a Hatter on LSD, but I have to trust him on this.<em>

_If there's something Jane's proven time and time again, it's that he knows how to manipulate people to do what he wants them to do. It's a refined and subtle art, and he makes you feel like you thought it up all by yourself._

_He's always planning. It's how he functions. He creates convoluted plans, and plans backup plans to back up his backup plans. Plotting comes as naturally as breathing to him. A byproduct of being a con man, undoubtedly._

_He always wants an audience for his theater. People watching means more reactions, meaning more chances to find clues. I get that, but sometimes he's just a showman for the show itself. He loves drama more than anyone I've ever known. I think he creates it just to pass the time, the case be damned._

_He knows I don't have the time to deal with his bull, so he gets creative when he goes behind my back. I try to cut him off, but he's clever as a stunt driver. He just finds another way to avoid the collision and keeps driving on._

_I worry sometimes about him. He tries to hide his issues, and when they do manage to slip past his mask, he gets distant. Distant and even more annoying, so I lose focus on what I want to ask and get angry with him for being annoying. It's a classic trick I've fallen for many a time._

_Bastard._

_Then again, if he wasn't so damn good at what he does, I probably wouldn't tolerate his crap and keep him around as much as I do_.

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><p><strong>Huh, this just ran off into the sunset with my plot bunnies. I like it!<strong>

**Review please!**


	19. Temptress

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #18: Temptress - "What lucky SOB gets to see the boss in that?" Cho deadpanned, knowing that Jane was paying rapt attention.**

**Words: 581**

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><p>"Still don't see why we can't provide backup," Rigsby said.<p>

Grace ran her hands nervously down the front of her tight green dress. "Because two women don't stand out as much as two guys where we're going."

Cho flipped through the case file. "Summer says that the function is high-class, but not too far out of your range. Don't try to make trouble and you should all be fine."

"We'll be fine regardless," said the young blonde woman as she returned from the bathroom. Her dress was shimmering gold, practically laminated to her body, and short enough to make her legs look a mile long with strappy gold heels. She nodded at Grace. "Very fine indeed. Lots of guys go for the athletic ones, 'specially those who can flaunt what they got."

"I don't know about that..." Grace's hands smoothed her dress front again, her eyes dropping to look at the floor.

Rigsby opened his mouth to reassure her, but the words died in his throat when Lisbon emerged from her office. "Holy smokes," popped out instead, drawing everyone's attention to the boss.

Unlike Summer and Grace, Lisbon's dress was a longer length, almost down to her calves in the back, but with a large slit up the side to show some leg. A brilliant shade of dark fuschia pink, it make her loose dark hair seem even darker and her shadowed eyes pop out.

"Whoa," breathed Grace.

Summer giggled. "She's a natural. We're going to trip over the guys there, they'll be coming in droves." Looking over at the only other male on the team, she said, "Well, Mister Jane? How does she look?"

Feeling the eyes of all his friends trained on him, Jane fought to come up with a witty reply to describe Lisbon. Unfortunately, his brain decided to revoke his power over speech at that exact moment because, honestly, he was astonished she agreed to wear something that revealing. The brunette was a modest woman by nature, and this type of garment was as far from modest as you could get without crossing the line into indecent.

"Jane?" Lisbon called out, seeing his blue eyes go slightly blank. "You okay?"

Speech returned, and he hurriedly tried to cover his lapse. "Not bad, Lisbon. Are you armed?"

"Of course I am," she replied, sounding mildly insulted that he had to ask her that.

"May I ask where?"

Imagine his surprise when, instead of blushing madly and sputtering at him to mind his own business, Lisbon's lips curled upwards into a teasing smile. "Are you sure you wanna know?"

_Is she flirting with me?_ "I asked, didn't I?" he replied.

"Maybe I won't tell you."

"Oh, evasion. Very well, I shall guess." Dragging his eyes over every inch of her (for the sake of observation, of course) Jane took his time to form an educated guess. "Leg holster."

That teasing smile grew wider. "Very good. But how high up the leg?" She turned slightly to show just how much bare leg was revealed by the slit of her dress. He couldn't see any black fabric of the holster visible...which meant...

Jane's throat went dry as his brain shut down in shock. _Oh holy God, is it...?_

"Agent Lisbon?" called out another agent. "We're ready to go."

Lisbon's teasing smile vanished as business returned to the forefront of her mind. "Summer, Van Pelt, let's go." She leveled at the still-staring Jane. "Cho, Rigsby, you watch him. He goes nowhere. He does nothing. Tether him to the sofa with a pot of tea if you have to." Grabbing a clutch that matched her dress perfectly, she led the informant and the red-haired agent to the elevator.

Looking back at Jane with a tinkle in his dark eyes, Cho said to Rigsby, "Don't think we'll have to worry about him for a while."

"How's that?" asked Rigsby, utterly clueless.

"He's still trying to process that the boss's gun wasn't in plain view."

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><p><strong>Just a little bit of teasing!Lisbon.<strong>

**Review please!**


	20. Madness

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #19: Madness - "You're very well groomed for a crazy person."**

**Words: 1,040**

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><p>He smiled at her when she walked through the door. "Hello Lisbon."<p>

"You don't look crazy," she remarked, sitting down across from him. "But they say looks can be decieving. You're a class act at that, aren't you? Always tricking people into believing that what they see is who you are, when in reality it's not."

Looking at his eyes, she could see the barest trace of surprise in them. This wasn't her usual play. She'd come in hard, asking the questions "Where's so-and-so?" or "How did you do such-and-such?" and even "Tell me about this-and-that." But small talk, observations, and little digs were not her style. Jane knew it, she knew it, and the three agents standing behind the door knew it too.

Lisbon was done playing around. So she was taking a page from Jane's playbook - telling exactly what she saw. And thanks to his long tenure on her team, she'd picked up every trick of reading people that he had shown her.

"Doing it for so long, you must've gotten real good at hiding the fact," she continued. "After all, appearance is everything these days." Her green eyes roved over his immaculate appearance. "Nobody suspects the guy who's clean, but not too clean."

Apparently he was picking up on her play. A small - dare she say, proud? - smile danced across his lips. "Very true," he said softly.

"Must've been why nobody expected you to go so far off the reservation," Lisbon said. "Nobody thought you had the urge anymore. You've done a fine job keeping those urges squashed, locked away, and hidden."

"Practice makes perfect."

"You've had nine years of it." _Keep going strong_, she told herself. _Don't stop, don't let him gather himself. Be Jane against the suspect. Be Jane._ "You had everyone fooled. 'I'll wait in the car,' how laughable. Tell me, how long did you think you'd have before they realized you were lying?"

Jane shrugged. "Honestly, only about twenty minutes, not an hour. I was startled to get that much of a head start."

"You lulled them into a pretty deep false sense of security."

"But not you."

Now it was Lisbon's turn to shrug. "I haven't forgotten how carefully you tread that line."

"And what line is that?" Ah, a note of anger buried deep beneath the amusement in his voice, like a thorn concealed in a bouquet of roses. She was starting to get to him.

Lisbon put on that smile she detested, the smile he'd give a suspect right before he told the truth they'd been trying to hide for so long. "The line that you crossed. The line seperating you from Red John."

His voice dropped an octave. "We're nothing alike."

"Locking someone in a coffin for a confession tells me different."

"Marx was evil, we already discussed this."

"And yet you did it again," Lisbon said. "Crossed that line six different times, this time."

"I can explain."

"I'm sure you can. In fact, I'd expect you to have five different stories explaining what you were about to do when we found you," Lisbon said smoothly. "You've been planning this for nine years. I can only assume that you've meticulously planned every little detail of each contingency plan." For the briefest moment, Lisbon felt a trace of fear in what she was doing. Patrick Jane kept his true self hidden for a reason, and here she was whittling away his false face.

She didn't think she'd like what she found. If the monster beneath was anything like the monster they'd been chasing for years. Whether or not she'd failed to save him before he became that which he hunted.

Blue eyes bored into her with a rare amount of raw emotion. "You came in alone," he said quietly. "Without backup. Why?"

"Figured I had about half an hour before someone else would arrive."

"Why come alone?"

"Secrets are better kept between two people."

"What secret is that?"

Lisbon didn't break eye contact with him. "That you lost control. That you went rogue, got in hot water, and lost it." Her hand reached across the table to touch his knuckles. "Jane, it's not something to be ashamed of."

Obviously he thought differently. She could see him withdrawing into himself, those blue eyes going blank right in front of her. "I think it's time for you to go now," he said in a dull voice.

"I guess I should," she replied, standing up to leave. "I'll be back."

But Jane was completely gone now, looking aside at the blank white wall. Lisbon knocked on the door to signal that she was ready to leave. She met Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt in the corridor. As always, Grace was the first to ask. "Well?"

"He's still not completely back yet," Lisbon said thickly. "But I think I'm getting there."

"Doc said he isn't staying lucid for long," Cho reported. "Said he's still catatonic more days of the week than not."

Rigsby glanced at the door of the psych ward. "What do you expect? It's been two months since he's killed R - " He quickly shut up, realizing what he was about to say near too many curious ears. "He's got nothing to live for now," he finished instead.

"He's got us," Lisbon snapped. Her green eyes bored into her team. "Remember, only we know what really happened in that room. Nobody, especially Wainwright, _ever finds out_, is that clear?"

They nodded solemnly, then departed seperately. Lisbon was last to leave, watching sadly as her broken consultant was put in a wheelchair and wheeled back to his private room.

"I'll get you back, Patrick," she whispered to his shrinking back. "I'll make you live for something else, I promise."

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><p><strong>Is anyone else sitting on pins and needles for the finale? I know I am!<strong>

**Review please! It shows your love!**


	21. Details

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist _or that AWESOME season finale, "The Crimson Hat."**

**Prompt #20: Details - His devil was all but invisible. Maybe that's why he worked so hard to hunt down others.**

**Words: 803**

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><p>Lisbon found him after all the hubbub died down.<p>

Of course she did. In fact, she had been banking on it. She was turning out more like Jane every day. The memory recall trick with the John Doe's suicide only drove it home.

She could do what he did, even if it was just a simple trick. She could, for a moment, be as tricky as him.

Not sure if the knowledge was a blessing or a curse yet.

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><p>Jane looked up at her when she sat beside him on his little cot. "Hello Lisbon," he said tiredly. "How's Lorelei?"<p>

"Safely imprisoned in solitary," she replied. "Nobody but our team is allowed in to see her. We're not going to have another Todd Johnson or Rebecca situation."

He only nodded, and Lisbon knew he had barely heard what she said. She knew his mind was far away, probably analyzing how he could pump Lorelei for information about Red John. That's just how he was.

He never thought about much else other than the little things of a case. Sure, Red John was his focus, but when they had no case or leads about him, Jane re-focused all his considerable talent on looking at the little details. It's what made him invaluable as a consultant.

But Lisbon knew better than to call it selflessness. In truth, she didn't think he honestly gave a damn about any of their victims or their families, save for the rare occasion the crime resonated with something in him.

No, he liked the need for his cleverness, solving the twists and turns that a murder case presented. He liked using his brain and planning traps for suspects to fall in. He liked the thrill of being right. He liked performing for an audience.

It kept his mind sharp for when they did come across Red John. It kept him hooked, like an addict with his second-favorite high, holding out until his true drug of choice was there for the taking.

_What does that make us? _she wondered. _Does that make the CBI his dealer? Does that make me...make me his..._

A tap on her elbow brought Lisbon back to the present. "Lisbon?" Jane asked, looking at her curiously and - dare she believe it? - with a trace of concern in his eyes and tone. "You all right?"

She shrugged. "I've been better," she admitted. "What with getting "killed," tricking and getting wrung out by the FBI, losing Wainwright and Red John, and all in the last day and a half, I'm feeling a little tired."

"I'm sorry," Jane mumbled, dropping his hand from her elbow. "I'm sorry that you got involved."

"I'm not." The brunette leaned down to catch his cerulean eyes with her emerald ones. "If it helps to keep you alive, I'd gladly do it again."

He shook his head. "You shouldn't have to do that."

"You're my consultant, and I'm responsible for your well-being," Lisbon said. "That includes keeping you alive. You're not allowed to get yourself killed on my watch."

A wry smile twisted Jane's lips. "You just don't want to fill out paperwork in triplicate for a death on the job."

"There is that," she said with her own grin, "and the fact that I doubt I could stand getting used to another consultant with your particular brand of skills and attitude problems."

"I do not have attitude problems!"

"Oh please, you disrespect me, insult and harass suspects on a regular basis, lie to me and the team - "

Jane shrugged his shoulder and scoffed, "Meh."

"Don't "meh" me!"

"Please Lisbon, you wouldn't last a day without me."

"_We _made it six months without you, I hope you recall."

Their posture relaxed as they slipped into their regular string of banter.

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><p>Patrick Jane was a rare type, all right. He could see the little details in every case that people either missed or didn't want to see. Clues like that usually broke said case wide open.<p>

But sometimes he got lost in those tiny little details. For those times, he was real glad he had Lisbon to help him shift his perspective back to see the big picture.

Not that he'd ever, ever let her know that. He cared too much about her as it was.

Not sure if that was a good or bad thing just yet.

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><p><strong>Tag to "The Crimson Hat" because that hand-holding thing at the end was so adorable.<strong>

**Review please!**


	22. Misdirect

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #21: Misdirect - At her behest, Jane decided to teach her a basic trick of his trade.**

**Words: 523**

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><p>"That didn't work out quite how I expected it to," Jane said, wincing as he tried to sit up in the hospital bed without jostling his arm.<p>

Lisbon scowled at him. "It's your own damn fault."

"If you hadn't kept glancing at me for a cue - "

"Don't you dare blame me for your bad guess!"

"Has anyone ever told you how awful your poker face is, Lisbon?"

"Only you," was her dry reply.

He shook his head. "If you're to be of any help, you need to learn how to play along."

"Excuse me if I still don't understand your dumbass hairbrained schemes!" she snapped. "It's not like they're any help anyway!"

"Oh please, Lisbon, now you're just being petulant."

"Don't mince words, I'm pissed off." Lisbon crossed her arms, not caring how childish the gesture was. "You always insist on taking all the flack when you pull one of your stunts. I'm not helping you."

His brows furrowed together, puzzled at her words. "Yes you are. You keep me from getting hurt and arrest the bad guys when it's over."

"I meant, it's not like I _feel_ helpful when you start pulling stuff out of your butt. I just stand there looking like the hired muscle."

Now Jane raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you actually asking me to instruct you on how to cold-read someone?"

"No!"

"Pickpocket?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then what, Lisbon?"

He was going to make her say it, she realized. _You bastard. _"I want you to...teach me..." Scowling again, she spoke quickly so as to get it over with.

Too quickly, it seemed, because Jane honestly looked like he hadn't understood a word of it. So she tried again. "Teach me how to trick people into looking at something else."

Jane tilted his head to one side, the equivalent of a normal person's look of shocked amazement. "Are you asking me to teach you how to be an accomplice to my 'hairbrained schemes', Lisbon?"

Her pale cheeks burned as they flushed bright red. Pursing her lips, she nodded mutely.

A smile slowly pulled Jane's lips into a devilish smirk. He leaned forward and gave her that piercing blue gaze of his that made her stomach twist up. "Why Lisbon, I never knew you cared enough to turn to the dark side," he drawled sarcastically.

Lisbon cupped her hands over her mouth and mimicked the Darth Vader breathing noise. "Luke, I am your father," she said in a deep voice.

"Technically I'm Darth Vader. That makes you Luke," Jane corrected.

"Oh please. You're more like a twisted version of Obi Wan Kenobi."

"Which would make you Anakin Skywalker - " His smirk flipped into a frown. "Damn. You are Darth Vader."

She grinned wickedly. "I find your lack of faith amusing."

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><p><strong>Here we go again! More fluffy fun for all!<strong>

**Review please!**


	23. Grace

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #22: Grace - Jane was a skeptic, but he made the boss smile. That counted for something.**

**Words: 566**

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><p>I like Jane. He's a pompous ass who likes toying with people way too much, but I like him.<p>

I didn't always. In the beginning, he was too cynical, too cold, too jaded to the world. It was like he found amusement in everything I said or did, and it wasn't very professional of him. He tricked, lied, cheated and manipulated suspects into saying and doing things that made their guilt clear.

When I first met him, I didn't really like him. He used to pretend to be a psychic, something I couldn't stomach. Yolanda has always given accurate readings, and when Jane said she was deluded or lying, I couldn't help but retort.

But the years have changed my opinion of him somewhat. I've seen more than just the incorrigible con man.

He gives us real smiles when we all come back alive. It's not really noticeable to those who haven't seen it. But there's more of a glimmer in his eyes, a more relaxed curve of his lips, a dimple that doesn't show up as clearly as when he fakes the smile. Less conniving, more sincere.

He shows real fear when the boss or Wayne or Cho get backed into a corner and there's no way out. That's when his brain goes into visible overdrive, searching for the clues that will reveal the suspect's guilt and distract the killer from pulling the trigger.

He's been really worried about me ever since I shot that scumbag bastard O'Laughlin. Not overly, like Wayne and the Boss were. (I mean, therapy? Really? I'm _fine_) But Jane reacted the best way - he mentioned it once, then never spoke about it again. He'll shoot me concerned looks from time to time, but always covertly. He knows I hate people showing that they worry about me.

I've noticed he shoots the Boss those looks too. Normally it's when she's walking away after getting reamed out by Wainwright for something Jane did. Or after a really tough case goes cold and it gets her down. Or when a case is going nowhere after days of investigating. Or when the Boss just looks overworked, depressed, or both.

When Red John asked for Lisbon's head...Jane tried thinking of every other option before the stage-Lisbon's-kidnapping plan we finally went with. I'd never seen him so determined, or so torn. On the one hand, he was close to getting Red John. But on the other hand, he had to toy with the Boss's life, something he doesn't normally do lightly. That fact alone raised my opinion of him.

Jane tries to cheer her up. He's always done his best. The origami frog, cups of coffee, and the occasional box of strawberries that make it to her desk are little things that can poke a smile into existance on her face.

Jane cares about her. I know he does. He doesn't show it often, but it shows well enough.

I may dislike his opinions on God and psychics, and I may think his methods are wild, but I can't dislike his care for the Boss. He makes her smile.

He makes us all smile.

In this job, that's a rare gift to have.

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><p><strong>Review please! We're getting close to the halfway mark, and to a hundred reviews!<strong>


	24. Smile

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #23: Smile - He had plenty of them, and Lisbon was beginning to notice which were real and which he faked.**

**Words: 428**

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><p><em>"I am intrigued by the smile upon your face, and the sadness within your eyes." ~ Jeremy Aldana<em>

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><p>Teresa Lisbon always believed herself to be a very perceptive person. Then Patrick Jane waltzed into her life and proceeded to muddy the waters with that charming con man's smile.<p>

In the beginning, she just thought he was a conniving bastard who just liked messing around with people to suit his own fancy. He smiled because it amused him to play with the feelings and emotions of suspects and survivors alike. A puppetmaster, toying with the strings and lives of everyone around him.

But with his chaos came a sense of clarity. Over the next nine years of working with the guy, Lisbon slowly came to understand what made him force a grin through every single day, on and off the case.

He smiled all the time to hide the pain he felt every day. A living, breathing long con, that's what his life amounted to now. Faking to everyone, including himself, that jokes and a smirk will make everything seem all right.

Sometimes she could tell when he was faking. There's a crack in his focus, making his expression look wooden or flat. It's a subtle difference, only noticeable when you know what to look for. Lisbon was around him so often that she was able to notice it six times out of ten (she's not vain or confident enough to think she can see it nine out of ten).

He smiled when he was testing the waters among a pool of potential murder suspects. It was a mischievous little smirk that never failed to irritate everyone in the room.

He smiled when he flushed the true suspect out of hiding. That smile was pure imp, cocky and full of hubris, because he knew he had the killer dead to rights.

False or true, unconscious or intentional, a tiny half-smirk or a full-blown Cheshire-cat grin, the expression is always on his face.

Lisbon only knew one instance that this truth was proven wrong. When he finally stood over the real Red John's bullet-riddled corpse with a smoking gun in hand, Jane had on the most relaxed, most relieved, most honest smile she'd ever seen him display.

Then the con was over. The smile broke. And his face lost all expression as his legs buckled beneath him.

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><p><em>"You can go a long way with a smile. You can go a lot farther with a smile and a gun." - Al Capone<em>

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><p><strong>Little pre-tag to #19: Madness. I like it.<strong>

**Review please!**


	25. Red

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #24: Red - He always associated that color and all its shades with vengeance and death - until he saw that dress on her.**

**Words: 647**

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><p>Patrick Jane hates the color red.<p>

Red is blood.

Red is carnage.

Red stands for everything evil in his life.

He hates red.

Or so he thought.

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><p>Going undercover was always a trial for Jane. Despite his seemingly carefree expressions, he was always nervous whenever he had to venture into a hostile environment. Which was why he preferred having Lisbon at his back with a gun at her side.<p>

But when he saw his favorite CBI Senior Agent wearing a strapless vermillion number with a slit up the side longer than Pinocchio's lying nose, he had to steel himself from staring agape like a fool. Obviously chosen by the girly Van Pelt, it was a lovely creation of silk with a sweetheart bodice decorated with tiny crystals that shimmered when Lisbon moved. Clasped around her neck was a necklace of rubies and diamonds, with a large ruby pendant hanging just above her cleavage. A nearly-sheer wrap of crimson was draped over her shoulders, and her hair was pinned back in curls that revealed the beautiful ruby-and-diamond earrings that matched her necklace.

She was absolutely stunning, and Jane was in serious trouble.

"Jane?" she asked, sounding hesitant and awkward. "What is it?"

"N-Nothing," was his too-quick reply. "You just, um, look...wow. Just...wow."

For the purposes of the sting, Lisbon had to look like an elegant woman of means in order to lure their target. Hence the expensive ruby-and-diamond accutrements. She also had to be seen with a gentleman of equal wealth and class. Hence why Jane was currently wearing his best black suit, his crimson vest corresponding with Lisbon's dress.

"Wow is good. Wow means it's all right, right?" Lisbon affirmed. "For the party, wow is a good thing, right?"

"Yes..." he admitted reluctantly. _If you call getting salivated over by rich horny assholes like a piece of choice sirloin a good thing_. "You look lovely, Lisbon."

She glanced up at him with a strange look on her face. "Teresa."

"Pardon me?"

"You really ought to call me Teresa when we're in there."

Which crossed several lines both ways from wrong, but Jane knew she had a point. He couldn't refer to his date by her last name, else the familiarity wouldn't be believeable. But to call her Teresa while she was on his arm pretending to be his...Man, he was just getting deeper and deeper into trouble, wasn't he?

"Patrick?"

_Oh god help me_. Taking a steadying breath, Jane smiled at her. "Yes, Teresa dear?"

"Your tie is crooked. Hold still." She reached for the article of clothing, stepping close enough for Jane to smell the intoxicatingly heady perfume that ghosted the air around her. It was very light - Lisbon never did like wearing scents in the first place - but to his nose, it was the only thing he was inhaling. He had to fight to control his breathing as her fingers worked on his tie, straightening the knot to hang flat and tuck smoothly into his vest. "There. Better."

"Thanks," he heard himself say in a level tone of voice. She looked up at him, and once again, Jane swallowed nervously. Up close, she was more than just beautiful. Maybe because he knew that under that face lay a heart just as lovely, a mind just as special, a soul that had forever changed him. For the better.

"Thank you, Teresa," he repeated, meaning so much more than just fixing his tie.

He must've been staring too intensely for Lisbon to handle. A small blush bloomed to life on her cheeks, and she looked away shyly. "W-Well, we better get moving," she stammered.

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><p>Patrick Jane hates the color red.<p>

Red is blood. Carnage. Everything evil in his life.

And yet...

On Lisbon, it's a lovely shade.

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><p><strong>Fluff! Just what the doctor ordered.<strong>

**Review please!**


	26. Tombstones

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #25: Tombstones - When that fateful day rolls around, she knows exactly where to go.**

**Words: 686**

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><p>When he did break out of the sanitarium, it wasn't a shock to Lisbon. Honestly, she'd expected it to happen sooner than this.<p>

He did flawlessly fake his last breakdown for six months, after all.

The date didn't escape her notice. She knew exactly where he'd go after springing the coop. So after deploying the usual units to his Malibu home and blocking all the roads out of the city (a waste of time, in her opinion) Lisbon got Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt into the car and headed for the cemetary.

She parked along the closest access road. "I'll head in alone," she informed her team. "Stand guard. Don't let anyone approach him."

"He's not dangerous, Boss," Van Pelt objected.

"We know that, but not everyone knows Jane as well as we do," Lisbon replied. "Remember, he's just busted out after eight months' catatonia and a drug regimen meant to keep him nonviolent. Coming off a cocktail like that will make him badly disoriented. Keep everyone back until I can talk him down." Taking off her jacket, holster and gun, she handed them to Cho.

Walking up to where Jane sat was a test of self-control. She wanted to run to his side, but Lisbon knew that was a bad idea. The last thing he needed was adrenaline triggering his fight-or-flight reflex. He'd probably mistake her approach as a capture attempt and bolt. So she measured her steps and controlled her breathing.

He looked battered, tired, and defeated. His suit was wrinkled and his curls stuck out at odd angles. Sitting on the tombstone directly in front of his family's, he was slouched forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For once, Lisbon could perfectly read his body language. He was a man at rest, but not at peace. Not quite.

"Hello Lisbon," he said without breaking his gaze away from Angela's grave.

"Jane." She stopped six feet away from him, keeping her arms at her sides. "You okay?"

He shrugged. "I've been better." His hand rose to gesture to the two graves. "I - I haven't seen them in a while. I wanted to tell them myself."

Lisbon nodded. "Makes sense." She took another step closer. "Mind if I stick around?"

Jane patted next to him. She carefully sat on the tombstone as well, silently apologizing to the owner for perching there. "Been here long?"

"Since sunrise."

"What did you tell them?"

"That Red John is dead." His eyes hardened. "And that I killed him."

Lisbon nodded again. "Angela have anything to say about it?"

"Of course not. She's not really there. Neither is Charlotte."

"So what are you here for?"

He looked at her, his blue eyes baring his soul for the first time in almost ten years. "I don't know. Redemption?" he said feebly. "Forgiveness?"

"From them?" She leaned closer, brushing shoulders with the mentalist. "Did you find it?"

In a surprising display of normalcy, Jane scoffed. "You're kidding, right? They're dead. They don't care about what's happening around those in my life." His eyes flickered away from hers, then back. "Not like...not like how I care."

That surprised her, and Lisbon let the surprise show. "That's big of you to admit."

"It's the drugs talking," Jane assured her.

"I'll take that into consideration." Rising from the tombstone, she offered her hand to the mentalist. "How about I take you back to the CBI? Your couch will be happy to have you back."

That puckish smile of his reappeared instantly. "Meh. I bet you've been sleeping on it on your later nights."

"Accuse me not of deeds, and I shall not attempt to lie."

It was when Jane reached for her hand that Lisbon noticed. His wedding ring was gone. He caught her looking at it and grinned. "Figured it was time to move on."

Her returning smile was warm as sunshine. "Welcome back."

"Good to be back," he replied, closing his fingers around hers.

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><p><strong>And here we are, halfway through!<strong>

**Review please!**


	27. Rigsby

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #26: Rigsby - When it mattered, Jane could really give good advice. Even if he did make things impossibly awkward.**

**Words: 383**

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><p>Jane's a right bastard more often than not.<p>

He keeps tricking everyone into going along with his schemes. Mostly me. I don't know why I keep falling for his crap.

Okay. Honestly, while I'd like to kick his butt, his methods get results too. He finds out people's motives, proves people's innocence. He tricks murderers into showing their hands. He makes men and women dance to his tune like some weird Pied Piper.

I'm not as smart as he is, nor as clever. I'll admit that. I'm a cop, and a damn good one at that. I'm pretty observant too - working arson does that to you - but nowhere near as good as Jane. He's in a class by himself. Guess having to lie for a living has to make someone really good at noticing the little things. One slip-up can ruin everything.

If I've got it rough, Lisbon's got it so much worse. She continually has to put up with Jane's crap. Hightower really put her in the hot seat for more than one incident involving Jane. Wainwright was about ready to run them both out for the amount of crap Jane created. We've had to learn to walk a fine line with our orders, between creative interpretation and outright insubordination.

But as they say, with practice comes perfection. Boss always gives Jane enough of a lead to do what he has to. He gives her as much plausible deniability as he can. He gives us that too, and tips on how to do what we have to without relying on conventional (read: bureaucratic) angles.

But his advice isn't restricted to our work. We've all benefited from his nuggets of knowledge. He tells us only what we could do, not what to do. He lays out his viewpoint and lets us decide whether to follow or not.

I'll admit, I used to wonder if he was just messing with us to pass the time. But now I know better.

He didn't try to trick us, his team, as much as before. He doesn't play around with us as much either. In his words, we're no longer marks.

I can deal with that.

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	28. Illness

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #27: Illness - He had nobody. So Lisbon armed herself with chicken soup, medicine, and her best game face to drive him back to Malibu.**

***Edited 9/4/12 for location changes.**

**Words: 977**

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><p>It was obvious to everybody that Jane was not fit for duty. His eyes had dark smudges and bags beneath them, his face was unnaturally pale, and there was that little matter of what he dubbed a "pesky cough" making him choke up his own mucus every ten minutes. But being his usual stubborn self, he wouldn't leave in the middle of a case.<p>

Looking at the mentalist as he knocked back his fifth cup of tea, Lisbon heaved an annoyed sigh and glanced at Cho. "Think you guys can hold down the fort for a while?" she asked in a low voice.

"You gonna shove him in your car and drive him home and strap him down until he gets better?" he asked in that deadpan way of his.

She nodded grimly. "Something along those lines."

"Good luck. He's parked pretty firmly on his couch." Cho joined her in watching Jane. "What makes you think he's going to willingly leave with you?"

"Who said anything about willingly?"

As they watched, Jane slowly put down his teacup, weakly called to Rigsby for another serving of tea...and promptly fell backwards on his couch and started snoring. Walking back from the kitchen with the pot, Rigsby halted at the entrance to the bullpen and slapped Van Pelt a high five with his free hand. "Told you the crushed sleeping pill would work."

Cho shot his boss a dry look. "You drugged him. How very Jane of you."

Lisbon shrugged. "Van Pelt, start checking background on the victim and his family." She pointed to the unconscious mentalist. "Rigsby, haul Jane's ass downstairs to my car."

"He's not going to be happy," Cho remarked.

"If you had another way to get him out of here, you should've spoken up," Lisbon said.

"No. Just mentioning the very Jane nature of that action."

"Shut up. I'm leaving you in charge."

"Right, Boss."

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><p>She only made one stop at the grocery store to pick up chicken soup, ginger ale, crackers, tea, and cold medicine before driving to Jane's hotel room. She borrowed his keys and went inside, pulled out another change of clothes and his pajamas. Locking up once more, she put everything in her backseat and headed for home.<p>

Jane was just starting to come around when they pulled into her driveway. Lisbon managed to bully him to his feet and shuffle-walked him to her couch. Once there, he promptly conked out again. Lisbon paused for a chuckle before returning to the car for her groceries and Jane's things. Once everything was put away, she put the kettle on for tea and poured a can of soup into a pot.

The water was just boiling when Lisbon heard the sounds of a confused awakening sleeper. Taking the kettle off, she walked into her living room to see Jane trying to sit up on her couch, his bleary eyes blinking profusely in an attempt to clear his vision. The look of pure puzzlement on his face was priceless.

Brandishing the plastic spoon she was stirring the soup with, Lisbon put on her best Boss face and said, "You stay on that couch, mister, or so help me, I'll drug you again."

To her eternal surprise, Jane collapsed on the couch and muttered, "Yes, dear." He groaned once, groped for the blanket, and yanked it over his body before dozing off again. Feeling incredibly smug at this unexpected obedience from Jane, Lisbon did a little dance back to her stove.

When it was ready, she ladled hot chicken soup into a bowl and poured ginger ale into a tall glass. Both items went on a bed tray along with Jane's tea, prepared just how he liked it, with some honey on the side. Picking up the tray, Lisbon carefully crossed the room to her couch to set the tray down on her coffee table. "Jane, wake up," she said, shaking his shoulder gently. "Time to eat."

He slowly woke up, blinking in confusion. "Angela?" he mumbled, looking up at her face with sleep-clouded eyes.

The name of Jane's dead wife threw Lisbon for a good five seconds. Of course he'd assume Lisbon was her; he'd never been sick in all the time Lisbon had known him. Regaining her voice, she said, "No. Guess again."

His shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Oh...hello, Lisbon." He sat up slowly and looked around. "We're in your apartment."

"Brilliant deduction," she remarked without missing a beat. She picked up the teacup and saucer on the bed tray and asked, "Wanna take a stab at this?"

"Tea, milk added first, water truly boiling."

"Very good, Jane." Handing him the drink, Lisbon perched on the edge of her couch and watched him sip it carefully. "There's honey in case you want it."

He was halfway through his tea when Jane suddenly looked up at her. "How did I get in your apartment?" he asked.

Lisbon glanced away, then back at him. "You dozed off in the bullpen, so I drove you here."

"Liar." His blue eyes widened slightly. "You drugged me. You naughty girl."

"Technically Van Pelt drugged you."

"More lies." Now he seemed to peer through her soul. "Ah-ha. Rigsby. I knew there was a reason he kept willingly fetching me tea. I just couldn't focus long enough to think of it."

"Exactly why you're here and not working the case." Lisbon gestured to the cooling soup, ginger ale, and medicine. "This is the only thing you've got to look forward to until you recover. If you get better within the next few days, maybe I'll let you browse through the case file."

Jane frowned. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

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><p><strong>So this was un-beta'd, and I give a thank-you to all the reviewers who pointed out that Jane was living in a hotel room, not his Malibu house.<strong>

**Review please!**


	29. Drive

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #28: Drive - They both had it for very different reasons.**

**Words: 300**

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><p>His drive is for revenge.<p>

It's not hard to understand why. He blames himself for his family's death. He believes in payback.

What fuels him is loss. What guides him is bloodlust.

There isn't much that can alter his course from revenge.

Just her.

She's made him veer off into the light, but never too far for him to correct his path and step into the darkness again.

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><p>Her drive is for justice.<p>

Not difficult to know the reason. She's a virtuous person by nature. She believes in the system.

What fuels her is honor. What guides her is integrity.

There isn't much that can steer her off her course for justice.

Only him.

He's made her steer away from the straight and narrow, but never too far for her to grab the wheel and get back on the road.

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><p>They've clashed over Red John more than once.<p>

They both agree that he must pay for his crimes, but their execution and ends are what they disgree on.

She wants the killer in her handcuffs.

He wants the killer's blood on his hands.

She wants to bring him in for trial.

He wants to send him down to Hell.

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><p>So when the inevitable confrontation arrives, they shall stand on opposite sides of the serial killer, the destroyer of so many lives, with drawn guns.<p>

His will be trained on Red John.

Hers will be trained on Jane's gun.

Who would win this war of wills?

Jane? If he wants to end it himself...and if she will let him end it.

Lisbon? If she thinks she can save him...and if he wishes to be saved.

It will all come down to whose drive is stronger.

Or who falters first.

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><p><strong>This was really cool and creepy to think about.<strong>

**Review please!**


	30. Cho

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #29: Cho - Jane had his useful moments. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud.**

**Words: 601**

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><p>Patrick Jane really makes the top spot on my "List of Invaluable People I've ever Worked with." That's saying something.<p>

He's also one of the most insufferable people I've ever worked with. Again, that's saying something.

However, when it comes right down to it, there's nobody better to have in your corner.

But there's a catch. He's only good to have in your corner if _he _so deigns to be good there.

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><p>Jane and I had words after our latest case wrapped up.<p>

Once again, he'd flouted convention and rules and decency to give us a lead and a killer. But this time, we didn't have Lisbon. Bertram had reassigned her to another team as punishment for failing to control Jane on a previous case. With cunning, a plan that I might have contributed with, and manipulating it so that she made the collar, Jane had a three-minute conversation with Bertram, and Lisbon was back.

"Good work, Cho," he said to me on my way out.

I shrugged. "Don't do it again."

"Do what?"

"Something as stupid as that."

"Why would I do that?"

I gave him my best deadpan stare. "You'd do worse if it meant getting your way. And getting Lisbon back."

He pasted on that see-through smile of his and scoffed. "That's not - "

"Ray Haffner." That shut him up very quickly. I nodded. "Yeah, you're not really known for thinking clearly where Lisbon's concerned."

Jane gave me an appraising look. "You don't approve of me threatening Bertram with trouble."

"I don't approve of a lot about you. That's not the issue." I had to make him see the issue at hand. "Minelli let you get away with stuff. Hightower let you get by with slightly more. Wainwright got on you for every indiscretion. Every time, Lisbon had to cover for your ass. It's going to cost her eventually."

"I'd never do anything to damage her reputation," Jane objected calmly.

I don't doubt it. "Point is, your actions directly influence how people see her as a leader."

"I know that."

"You have a funny way of showing it." I crossed my arms. "Just realize that what you do can hurt her just as well as help her."

He didn't listen to people much, but I could see that my words were sinking in. I shrugged on my jacket and headed out of the bullpen, leaving him to sip his tea and ponder my words.

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><p>Best example of Jane's loyalty would be when Ray Haffner came in and tried throwing his weight around. With the regular team splintered after the O'Laughlin deal, only Jane was able to continue working cases. Haffner tried to bring me into his team in an attempt to control Jane.<p>

Because he was new, and because I dislike battling someone while having an unfair advantage over them, I gave it to Haffner straight. Jane would trick him. Jane was smarter than me. Jane was smarter than him. _Much smarter_, I wanted to smugly add.

And despite that, he still tried to outmaneuver Jane? Idiot.

Jane is toxic to anyone else he works with. Lisbon's the only person who can handle him for any amount of time. She knows it. He knows it. And Bertram knows it. Which is why, when Jane threatens trouble, Bertram caves like a house of cards in a twister.

Only Lisbon could control him. And Jane behaves only for Lisbon.

He's particular like that.

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><p><strong>Cho was really tough to write, wow. Hope he's not too OOC.<strong>

**Review please!**


	31. Loopy

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #30: Loopy - Heavy-duty pain medication, Lisbon learned, was the only thing capable of turning Patrick Jane into a rambling wellspring of information.**

**Words: 642**

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><p>"Heeeeeeeeeeeeey. Guess what?"<p>

Lisbon rolled her lips to bite them closed, trying not to laugh at Jane. He'd come out of their most recent case with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and there was nothing funny about that. It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny. It wasn't -

"Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig elephants aaaaaaaaaaaalwaaaaaaaaays understand smaaaaaaaaaaall elephants!" he said in a sing-song voice.

Okay, it was a little funny seeing the usually cool, collected Jane acting like a child despite the circumstances. Especially when he had such a goofy smile on his face as he stared at the lights and giggled at something only he could see, courtesy of the heavy pain meds coursing through his system.

"Lisbon. Lizzzzz-buuuuuun."

"Yes, Jane?" she asked.

"You're preeeeeeeetty."

_Oh, Lord. _She didn't know whether to choke or chuckle or blush bright red. So she settled for chuckling. "You're higher than a kite on the Empire State Building, aren't you?"

His baby blues looked up at her pathetically as his lower lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout. "Why'd you laugh?" Jane asked. "I was being nice."

Lisbon smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I'm used to you teasing me."

"Wasn't teasing. Don't tease about that stuff." He smiled again. "You're always pretty."

A thought struck Lisbon just then. If Jane was being so open about himself, this would be the perfect time to ask him things. Certain things she wasn't sure about. Things she couldn't ask before because he'd always give the runaround.

"Hey Jane, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," he pointed out.

She lightly slugged his uninjured shoulder. "You remember when we had to fake my death for Red John?"

"Yeeeee-up." The smile grew wider. "Kneeeeeeeew it could be done. Kneeeeeeeeew I could trick him."

"Do you remember what you told me before you pretended to shoot me?"

"Yeeeee-up."

"What was it?"

"I loooooooooooove youuuuuuuuuu," he slurred.

Lisbon swallowed the lump that suddenly choked up her throat. "Did you mean it?"

Instead of replying, Jane reached out with his free hand and grasped at air. "Stop shifting," he complained. "Can't touch your face."

She wasn't moving. _Double vision, _she figured. She reached out and took his hand, guiding it to rest on her cheek. His thumb moved to stroke along her cheekbone as his goofy grin turned catlike. "Did you mean what you said?" she asked again.

"Course I did," he said softly, as if reassuring a small child that the monster under her bed wouldn't get her. "Always do."

He was doped up and not in his right mind, but it still made her shiver. There was no hint of con in his voice, just outright honesty. The tone changed, however, when she didn't respond right away. "Don't you believe me?" he asked.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I do now." Lisbon checked to make sure nobody was around to see her, then she smiled and reached to pet his blond curls. "But you're never gonna tell me this again."

"Yes I will," Jane objected, pouting once more.

"You can't even call me by my first name."

Jane frowned, then his eyes widened as if she had solved one of life's mysteries. "Is that why you don't believe me?" he asked. "I can change, Teresa."

"I don't think that's an option for you right now. Not for a while." She smiled fondly. "But it's okay. I'm used to you stirring up trouble, really." Standing up, she brushed off her knees and stretched. "I'm going back to the CBI now. Try not to be a pain for the doctors, okay?"

"Ooooookaaaaaaaay," he said, drawing it out playfully.

Lisbon chuckled. "See you soon, Jane."

"Loooooove you, Teresa."

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><p><strong>*giggle* This was fun. I enjoy loopy!Jane.<strong>

**Review please!**


	32. Backhand

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #31: Backhand - "You'd make a fine shill, Lisbon."**

**Words: 740**

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><p>"Don't move!"<p>

Lisbon froze faster than a wax statue in the Arctic, her hand hovering over her holster. Her gun might as well have been across the room under containment for all the good it did.

The killer, Harry Turnbolt, pressed the muzzle of his gun against Jane's throat as he held the consultant in front of him like a shield. Turnbolt was an aide to the Governor who had murdered an intern during a night of passion, then tried to frame the Governor for it. Cornered by SacPD and the CBI, he'd taken Jane hostage and demanded a car to the airport and a plane out of the country.

Biting her lip, Lisbon quickly weighed her options. She couldn't go for her gun without getting Jane killed. She knew stalling wasn't an option; Turnbolt looked ready to blow off Jane's head at the slightest provocation.

Which left her plan. It was a sound plan, but its execution would depend heavily on luck, talent, and not a little trickery on her part. In short, it was a Jane plan, Lisbon-style.

Keeping her empty hands open and palm-up, Lisbon cleared her throat. "Hey, Harry. You have a better plan than just shooting your way past a streetload of cops, right?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Shut up!" screeched Turnbolt, pressing the gun tighter against Jane's head. "I've got him!"

"Go ahead. Take him." Both men's eyes went wide at her blasé tone. "He's more trouble than you can imagine."

"Lisbon?" Jane squeaked.

"I'll kill him!"

"In fact, I've wanted to shoot him a couple times myself," Lisbon admitted. "But there's too much paperwork." She pointed her finger at Turnbolt. "But if you do it, it's less work for me."

"I'll do it!" Turnbolt promised. "I swear it! I'll blow his brains out!"

"Do it, if you've got the guts to face what's coming." She jerked her head towards the window and the blazing white spotlight. "See that? The bright light? You know what's out there." Her eyes met Turnbolt's. "You know they're coming."

There was a flurry of motion outside the building. Turnbolt flinched, obviously torn between keeping his eyes on Lisbon or checking on the CBI's movements. Lisbon didn't look away. "They won't hesitate to shoot you," she repeated. "They're coming for you." She tilted her head to the side to check over his shoulder. "Probably through that door back there."

Turnbolt couldn't help glancing back. As soon as his eyes left her, Lisbon pulled her gun out of her holster and squeezed off a shot just as Jane ducked out of the way. Her bullet hit Turnbolt square in the shoulder, making him scream as he fell to the floor.

She noted Jane booking it across the room as she moved towards the window. "Clear!" she yelled.

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><p>"You knew, right?"<p>

She turned back to Jane. "Pardon?"

That insufferable grin was back. "You knew Turnbolt was a squirrelly OCD-driven oaf who would have to make sure there was no door behind him. You had to have known."

"Didn't you?" Lisbon asked.

"Of course, but I had a screaming madman and a gun in my ear. I couldn't really use that information." The smile faltered when Lisbon didn't confirm or deny her knowledge. "Wait. You...you knew he'd look, right? You didn't risk my life on something you weren't absolutely sure would happen, right?"

A secret smile slowly pulled Lisbon's lips back. "You tell me. You're the mentalist." She turned towards where Rigsby and Cho were talking to Bertram and made to leave.

"Oh, bravo, Lisbon." Jane's voice held a shred of respect and surprise that had her looking back, her smile turned smug. "You have become a fine practitioner of the con," Jane added. "Nice to see you've learned some things in the course of our relationship together."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. _E__ven his compliments had a way of making me think he's insulting me_. "Can't you just thank me for saving your life like a normal person, just once?"

"Meeeeh." His posture was lax and nonchalant, but the gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes. _Thank you, Lisbon, for saving my life. Again._

She smiled. "You're welcome."

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	33. Switch up

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #32: Switch-up - The day was a long day coming when Patrick Jane found himself outsmarted by Teresa Lisbon.**

**Words: 1,340**

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><p>The day began with such promise.<p>

He got a good night's sleep, had found a premium parking spot in the CBI lot, and his favorite brand of tea was available in the kitchen area. The only thing off was that his favorite mug had been moved to a different cupboard.

That should have been Jane's first warning. Everyone knew not to touch Jane's mug. The risk of payback was too great. But he didn't think too much of it as he brewed a cup of tea and headed for his couch.

Which had been moved ever-so-slightly. He was sure of it. Lying on it for so many years had made him an expert on where it should have been faced.

But when he looked around for the culprit, nobody was suspiciously watching or averting their gaze. Frowning, Jane sipped his tea and set it down on his unused desk before pushing his couch back to its proper alignment.

"Morning, Jane," Van Pelt greeted when she entered the bullpen fifteen minutes later.

"Hello Grace," Jane replied. Knowing that she was a horrible liar, he said, "Did you see who moved my couch?"

She shook her head. "No."

And she wasn't lying. He could tell; she had as bad a poker face as Lisbon. Which only meant she didn't see or know who did it.

Leaning back in his seat, Jane sipped his tea again and decided to let it go. After all, it might've been the janitor who moved his couch to get something from behind it. It had happened before.

There was no case that day, meaning that Jane was left to his own devices while the team caught up on their paperwork. After a lazy morning he decided to get the book he was currently reading from his attic room and catch up on it.

When he walked through the door, Jane immediately knew someone had been inside. One of his file boxes was open. He instantly looked through to see if anything was misplaced or gone, but there was no missing file. It looked as if nothing had been taken or switched around, but he still took the time to make sure. Once that was done, he replaced the box and reached for his book.

Downstairs, Jane paused at the doorway to the bullpen. Frowning in puzzlement, he quickly backtracked and headed to Lisbon's office. The brunette agent was behind her desk, scribbling away at her paperwork and looking entrenched in her task. "Lisbon? Did we get a case in the last ten minutes?"

"No," she replied without looking up. "Why?"

"Because Cho, Rigsby, and Grace are gone."

Now she looked up to peer through her blinds. "Oh, they must've went for lunch. Damn, I wanted to give Van Pelt my sandwich order before they left." Grabbing her phone, Lisbon punched in the redhead's number. Waiting a beat, she said, "Van Pelt, it's Lisbon. Yeah, I want a BLT, extra mayo, with a pickle and chips on the side." She covered the mouthpiece and asked Jane, "You want anything?"

"No thank you." Not seeing the point of sitting in an empty bullpen while Lisbon toiled away in solitude, Jane returned to his couch to retrieve his mug. "Mind if I join you?" he asked upon re-entering her office.

A wry grin tugged at her lips. "No sense saying no, you'll just get comfy anyway." Picking up her empty mug, Lisbon stood up and held out her hand. "Here. I'll fix you a fresh cup."

"How kind of you, Lisbon. Thank you." Going to her office couch, Jane settled down and cracked open his book. It wasn't long before she returned with two steaming mugs, handing the tea-filled one to him. "Thank you."

"No problem at all. Now shut up."

The command was familiar, but her odd choice of reply caught Jane's attention. His mentalist sense was tickling his brain with a feather, as if subtly warning him about something. "Is something up, Lisbon?" he asked curiously.

"Not more than the usual," was her stoic reply. She looked at Jane, then reached over to take a drink from her coffee. "Is somethinig wrong?"

"No." To drive the point home, Jane sipped his own tea. He slanted a look at her. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Lisbon's tiny smirk was accompanied with a lifted eyebrow of disbelief. "You're kidding, right? I think we've come to the conclusion that I can't hide stuff from you so easily."

"That's not an answer," Jane replied, his curiosity piqued. "You're being evasive."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am not."

He could keep this up all day, but Jane knew a better way to get the truth from Lisbon. It was resting in his hand, lifted from her desk when she had left the room. Her cell phone.

With impeccable timing the device vibrated in his hand. Jane smoothly raised the phone to his ear and pressed the answer button, but kept himself from saying hello.

"_Hey, we got the sandwiches. Heading back to the office now,_" came Cho's deadpan voice. After a brief second of silence, he added, "_Jane, tell the boss we're on the way back._"

_Busted_, the mentalist thought wryly as he relayed Cho's words to Lisbon. When she held out her hand to him expectantly, Jane meekly handed the phone back to her. "Are you satisfied yet?" she asked, hanging up.

Jane pursed his lips. "I still think you're hiding something from me."

"That's your perogative."

"I'm not leaving."

"Fine," she shrugged, returning to her paperwork. "Be that way."

They sat in relative silence until the team returned from their lunch run. Van Pelt dropped off Lisbon's sandwich and gave Jane a nod of acknowlegment before returning to her desk. His perceptive gaze never left Lisbon as she ate her lunch with the solemnity of a saint in church.

"Aren't you bored yet?" she finally asked after ten minutes of Jane's silent staring.

He thought about it and said, "Yes." Getting off her couch, Jane drained his tea and headed out of her office. If he timed it right, he could probably catch a few hours' sleep before the end of business day.

Lisbon allowed herself the smirk that had been trying to form all morning as Jane headed upstairs to his attic. She'd been slightly afraid that he'd bust the whole operation wide open, but thankfully Van Pelt had kept her micro-expressions controlled and Cho hadn't said anything unnecessary over the phone. If Jane had talked to Rigsby, they would've been found out.

But he hadn't, so they weren't, and Jane was heading up for the quiet of the CBI attic for a nap. All according to plan. Leaning back in her chair, Lisbon looked at her watch and counted down the seconds. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

"Agent Lisbon?"

She held up a finger to silence the form-carrying agent without looking up. "Five, four, three, two..."

"AURGH!" came the loud yell from the attic staircase.

Lisbon shot a triumphantly wicked smile towards her team in the bullpen. Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt engaged in a round of high-fives at the successful completion of Operation: April Fool. After a decade, it was nice to finally get the drop on the mentalist.

Her grin got even wider when Patrick Jane stomped down from the staircase, sopping wet and leaving a trail of water behind him, courtesy of the bucketful that the team had rigged to tip on him when his door opened. He shot Lisbon a smile of "Oh, well played," and headed for the elevator, squishing with every step.

"Agent Lisbon?" the agent in her doorway tried again, holding out her forms.

The Senior Agent looked at her and held out her hand. "Sorry. Those need my signature?"

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><p><strong>Ah, the silly! And I can actually see this happening, maybe...<strong>

**Review please!**


	34. Heal

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #33: Heal - It would take a while, but at least he now had a reason to try.**

**Words: 947**

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><p>Lisbon's been with me since the M.E. wheeled out the corpse. She hasn't said a word, sitting beside me while the crime scene guys putter away around the blood-slicked room. We both have blood on our clothes, which is the only reason we're still here.<p>

Cho comes over with two paper bags and two sets of coveralls. "Your clothes are evidence," he said unnecessarily. "We've set up a screen. Rigsby and Van Pelt left to get clothes from your places."

Mutely Lisbon and I head for the changing area. But my mind is still going a mile a minute, flashing through the last eleven hours like a movie on fast-forward. A bloody slasher flick that starred me, my serial killer nemesis, and the worst feelings of impending death I'd ever felt.

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><p><em>We weren't even working this case. Not at first. But when a familiar M.O. showed up, we were immediately called in.<em>

_Red John had resurfaced. After almost eight months, he was back._

_I didn't handle it well. How could I? My first lead since the Lorelei debacle, and he was running circles around us._

_My paranoia racked up a couple dozen notches. I started shutting people out, even the team, even Lisbon. I was so focused on catching Red John without tipping my hand to the mole that I made a deadly mistake. I left without informing Lisbon where I'd gone._

_So when Red John got the drop on me, I knew nobody would miss me until it was too late, because nobody knew I was missing._

_The first couple hours weren't that bad. Red John just wanted to play at first. Psychological torture. __The words trickled from his lips like venomous snakes seeking a crack in my armor. Fangs of blame, guilt-infused poison. The names were hurled at me. __Angela. Charlotte. Kristina. Name after name, every victim I couldn't save. Taunting me about my failure to capture him._

_I tuned it all out. It wasn't like I hadn't beaten myself up with this same information day after day._

_That's when he started on the physical torture. Nothing too bad, just a few hits with a cattle prod and a couple punches to my abdomen. I held out as best as I could, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing my anguished cries of pain._

_When I was weakening after six hours, he started mixing his barbed words with the inflicted wounds. He started saying how he'd take out the remaining people I cared about. He took pleasure in detailing how he'd slowly torture and kill Cho, and Rigsby, and Van Pelt, and Lisbon._

_I couldn't hold back. I shot back a snark comment about Lisbon braving hell and high water to hunt him down. Red John just chuckled and smoothly described how he would take great pleasure in tearing Lisbon to pieces._

_The next three hours are a blur. One of us was cackling - probably him. One of us was screaming bloody murder - probably me. I was reaching the end of my rope, and we both knew it. I was prepping myself to die. I knew I would._

_We both heard the footsteps in the hallway. Red John held his butcher's blade at my throat and welcomed Lisbon as she entered the room, her gun drawn like an angel of justice. I was barely conscious by then, but I remember being so glad and so scared to see her standing in that doorway._

_Red John started to taunt her, but Lisbon shut him down fast. Long years of practice with me, I guess. That's when he said, "You won't kill me, Teresa."_

_"No?" she asked, sounding as disgusted as I was that this monster had dared to use her given name._

_"Patrick will never forgive you if you take his revenge," Red John said. "He's waited ten long years for this. To deprive him of my death would be too painful."_

_I saw the thought flit through her eyes, but Lisbon managed a wry smile. "I've been forgiven for less. Plus, I've told him that he'll get his justice with you behind bars."_

_"What if you're wrong?" The serial killer sounded like he was containing the urge to cackle._

_She looked right at me. "Then I'll have to live with it." Her eyes slanted back to Red John with as much rage as I've ever seen her display. "But you won't be around to give a damn either way."_

_Then in a couple of gunshots, it was over. Red John was down, dead in a pool of his own blood. Lisbon moved to my side as CBI agents flooded into the room and secured the scene._

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><p>My recollection is broken by a voice. A voice that, for those last few hours, I'd been afraid I'd never hear again.<p>

My conscience. My guardian angel. Teresa Lisbon.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asks, nudging me with her shoulder.

"Sure," I reply.

"My place?"

I almost ask to be taken back to the CBI attic when it hits me. It's finally over. Red John is gone. Dead.

But not by my hand.

Funny, that should upset me. Infuriate me. But it doesn't. Not as much as I thought it would.

Probably because I had something else to worry about. Something to live for.

I smile at this stubborn, beautiful woman who's had my back since day one. And take that first step towards the rest of my life.

"Sure."

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	35. Poker

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #34: Poker - He completely _killed _at that game for a variety of reasons.**

**Words: 936**

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><p>"We're going to take a break now, ladies and gentlemen," the dealer said. "Please take the time to freshen up, grab another drink. You can return to the tables in fifteen minutes."<p>

Jane stretched his legs gratefully as he rose from his seat at the poker table. Six hours of solid game time had given him world-class cramps and a pressing need to visit the restroom. _This lead had better be worth this aggravation_, he thought.

The CBI had received a tip that their murder suspect was going to be at this underground casino, organizing a high-stakes poker game for the richest of society. The winner of the tournament would be able to meet the suspect one-on-one. His poker skills notwithstanding, Jane really wasn't sure why he'd been picked for this undercover mission. Okay, slight lie; he knew it was because he had no discernible tell. Lisbon had her little frown lines, Grace had a twitchy finger when she had a good hand, and Rigsby's face was just too expressive for poker. Cho would've been a good choice, but he declined on the fact that he knew he wasn't good enough to last the tournament.

Which left the carnie-born, carnie-bred Patrick Jane to play a room of fat cats like a master pianist.

After completing his business, Jane meandered to the bar and ordered a drink. His sharp blue eyes never rested as they swept the room. Sipping his drink casually, he surveyed his final competition. A beautiful woman with flowing platinum blonde hair, wearing a designer dress and enough jewels and gold to buy a small city. A balding, slightly overweight man, wearing a signet ring and exuding an air of superiority like a pampered Persian cat. A younger gentleman who dressed as flashy as his paid escort was dressed. All fine players with virtually unreadable faces and equally difficult tells to pin down.

He did love a challenge.

"How is it going?"

Jane turned to smile at the stunning brunette who had appeared beside him wearing a strapless black gown and white elbow-length evening gloves. "Just wonderfully, dear," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Having fun?"

"Enough to be amused by this whole thing," she said. "You know I'm absolutely horrible at cards."

"You've gotten better."

"I still can't beat you."

Jane's smile grew fonder. "I continue to tell you, Teresa, your tell is just too obvious."

She leaned closer as if to kiss his cheek, but turned at the last moment and whispered, "So? What can you tell about the remaining players?"

"The woman is playing for profit and prestige," he reported. "She doesn't care about meeting Raleigh, she just wants the money. The fat man is doing this to prove he's still a contender among these fat cats, but it's a futile game. The young man with the paid escort thinks he can bluff his way to the final seat because he's already come this far on luck alone."

Lisbon pulled back and grinned at him. "So, you're saying you have this in the bag."

"On the contrary, my dear Lisbon. It's still anyone's game. That's the beauty of poker."

"Jane, this is serious."

"I know," he assured her. "But poker is a game of chance. I'm playing the table as best I can, but it's not easy with these people."

A worry line furrowed between Lisbon's brows. "This isn't making me feel better, Jane. We - " she didn't dare say CBI aloud, in case there were plants in the crowd, " - shelled out good money for this tournament, and you're already ten thousand down."

The blonde man was about to respond, but a clear bell dinged three times as a signal to return to the table. Smiling again, Jane leaned forward and said, "Then how about a kiss for luck, Teresa dear?"

Her return smile was brittle. "You don't believe in luck, _Patrick_," she gritted out between her teeth.

"Regardless."

Eyes darting from side to side, Lisbon quickly rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his smirking lips. "There," she snapped. "Now get your ass moving."

"Yes ma'am," Jane said.

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><p>Lisbon didn't know why she ever worried about her consultant's chances at winning.<p>

Last hand of the tournament, it was between the man with the signet ring and Jane. The ring-wearing man had gone all in with a smug grin. Jane, his own smile nervous, matched the bet. Lisbon chewed on her bottom lip as the final card was dealt to the players.

His opponent revealed a full house, Jacks over fives. "Jacks full," he said pompously as the audience applauded politely. "Too bad, sir. This just wasn't your hand."

Jane met his gaze squarely. "No, it's not," he remarked, "But I prefer this one anyway." And he revealed his own cards..."Queens over twos."

The room erupted into murmurs and applause as Jane raked in the final pot, putting him flush and then some. He looked up and met Lisbon's eyes with a grin and a roguish wink. Rolling her eyes, she moved through the crowd to his side.

"And you doubted me," he murmured as they walked after the man sent to escort them to their suspect. "Who won you that lovely emerald necklace all those years ago?"

"And you still demanded a kiss for luck," she muttered back.

Luck be damned. He was just that good.

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><p><strong>Something before the hurricane comes through.<strong>

**Review please!**


	36. Bomb

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_ or episode 3x23 "Strawberries and Cream."**

**Prompt #35: Bomb - No lie, he was _absolutely terrified _when he saw that rigged vest on his Teresa.**

**Words: 853**

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><p><em>She's wearing a bomb<em>.

That's my only thought at the moment.

We're at a dingy, abandoned locker room in a dingy, abandoned high school in the middle of the night, but I can't even process it anymore. The only thing I see is Lisbon, lying on the dingy floor, with a bomb vest strapped around her torso. The panic is overwhelming, restricting my ability to think clearly.

I call her name once, and she stirs. She props herself up on her elbows, staring at me with that cute puzzled frown of hers. But my eyes are still squarely latched on the bomb. She looks down, then up at me. Her head shook slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she saw.

I take a careful step closer. "Lisbon, move slowly," I say.

"Jane, get out of here," she replies, not moving.

"Not happening." I wasn't going to leave her like this. I walk up closer, slowly, searching her body with my eyes for a tripwire or a hidden switch that could trigger the bomb. There isn't one, which lets me breathe slightly easier. The man didn't booby-trap her. "Lisbon, try getting on your feet." I hold out my hands to her. "Here. Take my hands."

She still doesn't move. "Jane, just get out of here. Call the bomb squad - "

"Dammit woman, let me help you," I snap, losing my patience at her need to save everyone before herself. "Just take my hands and stop setting yourself up to be a martyr, please. I'm not leaving you alone like this."

Somehow we manage to get her standing upright. I hold her one hand as my other hand touches her elbow to keep her steady. My eyes don't leave her face, but her eyes skitter to the ground.

She's terrified and doesn't want me to see it. That makes two of us; I hate seeing her scared. My brave Lisbon, Saint Teresa, always has to be the strongest. She keeps everyone brave enough to do the job.

I tap her elbow. "I want you to just let me try and help you get out of that thing?" I catch her eyes with mine. "It's gonna be okay, alright?" She nods, her eyes large, liquid pools of fear and trust. "Talk me through it," I urge, slowly dropping to my knee in front of her vest.

She swallows to calm herself. "Um. You see the flap in the front of the vest," she directs.

"Yes, right here."

"Okay, o-open it gently." I do as she orders, pulling one Velcroed millimeter at a time until I reveal what it hides. "Is there a lock inside?"

"Yes."

She takes another breath. "Uh, does the lock have any wires attached to it, or, um..."

I look up at her, then back to the infernal lock. "There's a bunch. That's not good is it?" I murmur unhelpfully.

Her eyes roll as her voice mumbles wryly, "Don't pick the lock."

"No I won't." Even I know not to poke things liable to explode. I lean closer to peer at the wires. "Where does this wire go?"

A standard cell phone ringtone pierces the air, startling both of us. Lisbon's eyes widen in horror as she looks at me. "Did you do that?" is asked out of habit, so I don't take offense. I rise and lean back, my hands up in denial.

"I-I-I-I swear I-I didn't do anything, I didn't touch a thing." I never play around with bombs. Especially bombs strapped to people I care about. "It's a phone. You should answer it," I say, brushing her hair back to reveal the pocket holding the device.

"You sure?"

I carefully pull out the cell phone. "Seventy-five percent."

As usual, my words don't give her much comfort. Her eyes flick from the phone to my face. "Y-Y-You think...we should answer it."

"Yeah."

"Wh-What if it, what if it triggers the bomb?"

_Yeah Patrick, what if it triggers the bomb? _part of me asks. To stop us both from fearing the worst I just say, "We'll never know."

Gingerly she takes the phone from me. We stand as it rings again, then she pressed the button to connect the call. It takes her a second to collect herself before she answers, "Hello?"

"_Hello Agent Lisbon._" The voice is distorted; he's using a voice changer. "_You must do exactly as I say if you want to live_."

"Who is this?" she asks.

"_No questions, please_."

As I listen to the man list his conditions, I start formulating a plan. If I'm right (and I usually am) the man who put this vest on Lisbon isn't going to kill her until she gets what Dinkler failed to deliver from the Cash In Motion store. Which means I'll have my chance to wring the bastard's neck once we found him.

Nobody threatens my Teresa.

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><p><strong>My own little insert for that tense scene from "Strawberries and Cream Part I"<strong>

**Review please!**


	37. Talk

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #36: Talk - She knew he had plenty of it, but her chief concern was with what his mouth spewed out when in volatile situations.**

**Words: 707**

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><p>There were times Lisbon wished that Jane came with a big, red SHUT UP button she could slap.<p>

This was one of those times.

"What's Jane doing?" Bertram demanded as he stood beside Lisbon with a very displeased look on his face.

Too focused on Jane, Lisbon bit off, "His job. Like you told him."

Jane was alone in Interrogation, talking to the grieving widower of their victim without really paying attention to his words. Not that different from his usual tack, but Jane wasn't looking at the man. Which meant that he wasn't seeing the way his words were affecting the widower, and not in a positive way. Lisbon was almost sure that the man would explode and attack Jane in less than a minute.

"I told him to find motive, not browbeat a confession of the man!"

"He wouldn't infuriate him without a good reason." _Lie, _her conscience instantly said. _He'd do it in a heartbeat on a hunch. _"I'll go in there right now."

"You do that, Lisbon."

She walked into Interrogation just as the widower lunged over the table for Jane. Instinct made her yell "Some help in here!" as she grabbed the attacker's shoulders and tried to pull him off of Jane. Rigsby and Cho arrived in time to help remove the widower, freeing Lisbon to check on Jane.

The sight of blood on the mentalist's temple was enough to make her panic. His unresponsiveness and ashen face only ramped it up. "Jane? Jane, can you hear me?" she called out, gently slapping his cheek to bring him back to consciousness. Someone pushed the first-aid kid to her side, and she flipped open the lid to grab an butterfly bandage and gauze.

Those blue eyes fluttered open, clouded with pain and confusion. "Wha...wha' happ'ned?" he slurred.

"You shot your mouth off," Lisbon replied, her relief skewing her words to sound sharper than intended. She gently dabbed at the small wound at his hairline and placed the bandage over it. "And guess what? He didn't like what you were saying."

"Surprise," mumbled Jane, reaching up to gingerly touch the darkening bruise on his cheek. "Ow. Didn't expect him to be a leftie."

"Caught you by surprise, huh?"

"Just slightly."

"Maybe next time you'll pay attention when you start throwing out those words of yours," Lisbon said. "You'll avoid getting hurt."

His smile was playful, if pained, and warmed her insides. "But that, dear Lisbon, is why you're around, isn't it?"

"I'm not your bodyguard."

"No, but you're my human barometer." By now everyone else had vacated the room, leaving the CBI agent and consultant alone. Without an audience, Jane was able to be more than half honest with her. "Usually you're there to divert the conversation, drawing the attention away from me. I can't push too far in one go, because if I do there can be consequences. Sometimes I forget that." His smile widened slightly. "That adorable frown of yours is the perfect indication that I've gone too far."

Lisbon tutted at the state of his rapidly swelling cheek. "You'd think by now you'd learn where the line was drawn."

"Meh. Lines are for the people with no imagination to color outside them."

"As opposed to children like you who disregard every line in the coloring book."

Jane's eyebrows rose. "Ouch," he said in mock-surprise. "That was low."

"What? The child remark? Like you haven't heard worse." She chuckled as she helped Jane rise to his feet again. "You okay now? Steady on your feet?"

"I'm not seeing stars or little flapping birds anymore," he confirmed.

"Good." She wound up and slapped the back of his head, eliciting a gasp of pain from Jane. "Don't ever pull a stunt like that again, got it?"

"Got it." He rubbed his head and added, "Oh, and FYI, he _did_ kill his wife."

"We don't know that yet," Lisbon said realistically. "But thanks to you, we can hold him on assault charges until we find solid evidence of murder."

"You're welcome."

"Shut up, Jane."

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>


	38. Blurt

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #37: Blurt - "Dammit Jane, why won't you listen to someone who loves you?"**

**Words: 752**

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><p><em>How did we reach this point?<em>

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><p>That's what runs through my mind. It's the only thing I can think of as I drive to the only place I can be sure Jane would be.<p>

He can't leave. Red John's baiting him, I know it. I know that he knows it too, but Jane's never been clear-headed about anything that has to do with Red John.

But that's not all.

Kristina Frye is dead. Red John managed to reach her in the asylum, leaving legions of his trademark smiley face scrawled in her blood on the white walls of her room. The sight of it had stunned Jane, stopped him cold in a way I'd never thought possible. The master manipulator, the lord of foresight, had not seen this coming.

The shock of his own fallability is what's making him do this. I know it's what's driving him to confront this psycho head-on.

I pull into the motel parking lot, throw the car into park, and race towards his room as fast as I can push myself to go. The door stands ajar, and the sight sends ice flowing through my body. I draw my gun and peek around the doorframe to see if anyone was there.

There he is, packing his few possessions in that little bag of his. I holster my gun and walk inside without knocking. He knows I'm here, anyway.

"Hello, Lisbon."

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><p><em>How did it get this messed up?<em>

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><p>"You're not going."<p>

I can't let him do it. I won't let him go up against Red John. There is no good way for this to end, no happy storybook ending that lets him have the life he's been denied these last ten years.

"I am."

"He's baiting you, Jane." But I doubt he cares. His need for revenge always blinded him to the consequences of his actions.

His blue eyes are tired, more tired than I've ever seen them before. "I know."

"It's a trap."

"Possibly."

One will die by the other's hand, and Red John wins either way. Jane's too smart not to know that.

He just doesn't care anymore.

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><p><em>How can I fix this?<em>

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><p>I beg, I plead, I cajole, I coax. But nothing works. He's too set on his path, the stubborn man, and nothing will divert him otherwise.<p>

"What about backup?"

"This is my fight, Lisbon. I won't endanger you or the others."

"We're family, Jane!" I shout this because I firmly believe it will shock him out of his funk. The last time he tangled with Red John, his family suffered. He wouldn't do that again. Not to us.

But unfortunately, he's already come up with a response to that. "And that's why I can't. I won't have him come after any of you. Rigsby has his son, Cho has Summer, Grace has her family, and you have your brothers."

"And what? You have no one?" He doesn't talk, but his eyes speak volumes. I bristle. "That's a bold-faced lie and you know it."

"But it's true, Lisbon."

"You told me once never to con a conman. Who's conning who now, Jane?"

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><p><em>How can I make him stay?<em>

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><p>His smile is the smile that I despise. I despise it because it's the one he wears when he puts himself down, shuts himself off and denies himself any type of happiness because of what he's done. Ten years after the fact, and he still denies himself the chance to move on.<p>

So, impassioned and infuriated and downright terrified that he won't come back if I don't keep him here somehow, my heart hijacks my vocal cords and shouts out the words I've kept secret for so long.

**"Dammit Jane, why won't you listen to someone who loves you?"**

The look in his eyes is a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and terror. His mouth hangs open slightly, stunned by my words, and the terror builds as his head gives an almost imperceptible shake.

For the first time in years, I can perfectly read his expression. _Please, don't say that. _Take it back.__

But I won't. I'll throw away my badge and my conscience and our damn friendship if I have to, but I won't let Jane go.

I can't.

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><p><strong>Lisbon-centric is tough to write, so I hope she's not very OOC.<strong>

**Review please! They're always a treat to read!**


	39. Pulse

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #38: Pulse - It'd been a long, long time since he'd felt his heart beat for something other than revenge.**

**Words: 561**

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><p>When Lorelei said that Red John wanted Lisbon's head, I couldn't believe it. I knew he'd ask for something ridiculous, something to prove my loyalty, but not that. Not her.<p>

She wasn't involved in any of this.

_But she is_, my conscience whispered. _She's been involved the moment I walked into the CBI_.

And it's true. Lisbon has always been beside me, like an angry little gun-toting princess grumbling about the amount of damage I leave in my wake. She threatens me with bodily harm, harasses me about right and wrong, preaches about justice.

Hobbles me with gestures of care, and friendship, and love.

I've seen it growing over the last ten years, beneath the prickles and grumblings. How could I not? She can't hide squat from me, and I think she's given up trying to by now. But neither of us have spoken of her growing feelings. To speak of them would make them real, and it's easier for her to function if she believes I'm clueless.

So I've managed to ignore the feelings. For the most part. Sometimes I can't help seeing them. Sometimes I can't help reacting when someone threatens her. Then I regain control of myself and move on.

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><p><em>"Dammit Jane, why won't you listen to someone who loves you?"<em>

When she'd fired those words at me in my hotel room, she managed to completely stun me stupid. I'd never thought she'd actually vocalize her feelings for me. Before I could recover, she managed to talk her way into my plan. Abandoning her backup, her pride, her badge and even her conscience, she'd come down this path with me.

Now she's got a gun to her chest, and I have a gun pointed at Red John's skull, and he's gloating over the entire situation. If I make to shoot him, he'd shoot Lisbon, and they'd both be dead at my feet. If I dropped my gun, he'd still shoot her, and then himself, and there would still be two bodies to be found at my feet. The ultimate checkmate, to deprive me of my enemy and my friend and have all blame left to me.

_**Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump**_

I used to think I could lose everything for the chance to kill Red John. I've lived with the thought of revenge for so long, I thought I was able to sacrifice everything to get it. Revenge has driven me for so long, I've almost forgotten what it feels like to have other fears. Other despairs.

But seeing her stand there, face pale and eyes blazing with terror and anger and love, I realize that I had been a damn fool.

_**Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump**_

She once told me that I'd get her fired. And it's come close to happening more than four or five times. But I never, ever wanted this to happen to her.

_**Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump**_

Red John is my demon. My monster. She should not be involved in this.

_**Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump**_

There must be another way. There has to be. C'mon, think. Think. _Think!_

I can't lose Teresa. I can't.

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><p><strong>Tagalong to #37: Blurt.<strong>

**Review if you please!**


	40. Cracks

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #39: Cracks - Little by little over the years, she'd begun to see the man behind the mask.**

**Words: 881**

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><p>Jane makes himself appear like a joker to put people off their guard.<p>

He's always in control of himself. His face is always perfectly schooled into the face of "I'm so much smarter than any of you morons" complete with a snarky grin. His body language is purposely loose, portraying a sense of ease and calm that only someone like me, someone who's worked with him for ten years and seen every change in his behavior, can see is forced. Even at rest, he holds his body tight and ready to defend against anything while appearing completely vulnerable.

The problem with it was, of course, the lack of contact with Jane's real self. Sometimes he'd share a tidbit of his past, but only the pertinent ones. Occasionally he'll recall a story with Angela, or even Charlotte, before shaking it off like a fly. He never revealed anything personal, big or small, if he could help it. Weakness was not conducive to his revenge.

Over the years, I've learned to see past this defense. Sometimes I can even catch a glimpse of the real Patrick Jane, the Baum-like man behind the curtain. But then the smoke and mirrors and flashes of fire engage, and he fades behind his façade once more.

It's a ruse as well as a defensive mechanism.

On Red John cases, that mask of his really starts to show signs of breaking. It begins to crack, like old wood that's been stressed too close to breaking point. Some of his plans get a little more dangerous than I'm comfortable admitting. He starts taking chances and speaking in ultimatums, like he'd willingly use himself as bait to catch Red John.

He can't afford to break. Not until his revenge is complete.

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><p>I can see the cracks growing wider as Red John taunts him. I can see the real Jane, the broken man desperately clinging to revenge so as to keep himself together for one more day, one more hour, one more minute. He's losing his cool, and that's the last thing that can happen now. I need Jane focused and calm.<p>

So I say to Red John, "Using me as a hostage? That's a historically bad decision on your part."

"Is that so?" I feel his grip tighten on the knife at my throat.

"Yeah," I reply carelessly. "Jane doesn't care about me. Last ten years, I've heard nothing but 'Red John' this and 'Red John' that and 'When I find him, I'll kill him'. It's like a damn broken record, I'm sick of it."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Agent Lisbon." He's starting to get angry. Good. If I keep his attention long enough, it'll give Jane time to come up with a plan.

"And you're a sicko playing God." This is Jane's forte, coming up with irritating bullshit on the fly. I've watched a master at work, and I think I'm pretty good myself.

Jane meets my eyes helplessly, but I give him a wink and the barest hint of a smile. I know what I'm doing. At least, well enough to know how to push a killer's buttons.

Apparently I'm doing something right. Red John's slowly getting more and more angry. "You had better be quiet, Teresa."

"When you grow a pair. How can you call yourself a man while you're hiding behind me?" I taunt. "I can't wait for you to get what you deserve."

"And what's that? Justice? The needle?" Red John chuckled, a soft whispery sound that made Lisbon shiver with revulsion. "Or are you hoping that Patrick will blast me to smithereens while you try to draw my attention away from him?"

Why isn't Jane firing? This is his chance. His chance to finally rid the world of the monster that haunts his dreams. I dare to glance over to Jane.

I've seen him broken, healed, lost and driven. I've seen him pull masterful plans out of thin air and spin a yarn that would put Scheherazade to shame. I've seen him smile with tears in his eyes and the breath knocked from his lungs. I've seen him fight to keep the loss and pain from his face.

But I've never seen Jane like this before. Then again, I've never seen him and Red John in the same room before. It's so radically different from how he behaves around other murderers, other psychopaths. Maybe because it was never personal with them.

Maybe I've misjudged him.

"I think you've made a fatal mistake, Teresa," Red John whispers.

Maybe I've forgotten to take into account how many times Jane has given up his chance of revenge to save me.

"I believe you've underestimated the strength of his feelings for you," Red John teases.

The mask isn't even there anymore. It's crumbled away, revealing the true pained face of Patrick Jane. A face twisted with uncertainty, panic, and abject fear. Fear, not of his own death, but mine.

Maybe I've never really known him at all.

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><p><strong>Follows #37: Blurt and #38: Pulse. Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion in #40!<strong>

**Review please!**


	41. Response

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #40: Response - Panic was his chief emotion, mixed with hope, pain - and an overwhelming urge to kiss her.**

**Words: 885**

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><p><em>For the life of him, Jane couldn't remember how they got to this point. <em>_Red John has his knife pressed against Lisbon's throat, and Jane's holding a gun on the monster who destroyed his past and holds his future in his grasp._

_If the situation wasn't so dire, he'd question his memory._

_Lisbon is telling him to take the shot. He knew he has to - it's the only way to end this nightmare - but he's scared. So damn scared about what would happen after he took the shot._

_Would his revenge be completed or left unfulfilled?_

_Would he hit or miss his target?_

_Would Red John let her go or take her with him?_

__Would Lisbon live or die?__

_Would Jane be able to live with the consequences of his next choice?_

_Too many questions. So he closes them out and focuses everything on aiming true._

_It's down to four actions - point, sight, click, shoot._

_It's over in three separate heartbeats - his._

_It's finished with two words - hers. "Do it!"_

_It ends with one ragged breath - Red John's._

_And a single bullet to the bastard's head brings the decade-long tableau of horror to a crashing halt._

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><p>After what seemed like an age, Jane lowered the gun and looked down at the dead body dispassionately, as if he was staring at a very unimpressive plant. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to feel relieved, vindictive, even elated at the sight of his defeated foe. But Jane felt none of those things. There was no delicious surge of revenge as he'd thought there'd be. There wasn't even a satisfied smile making its way on his lips.<p>

If anything, he felt...nothing.

"Jane?"

His eyes rose to meet Lisbon's, and suddenly he felt panic. An all-encompassing wave of panic when he saw the thin red line where Red John's blade had pressed against her jaw. He crossed the room and reached for the wound, hand as gentle as if he feared she'd break at his touch.

"I'm fine. It's not a deep cut. More like a scratch."

She sounded sure, but it wouldn't be the first time she lessened the extent of an injury. Jane started to raise his other hand, and that's when he felt the heavy weight of the gun for the first time.

Odd. When he'd had the weapon pointed at Red John, it hadn't been heavy. In fact, it felt as though it belonged there, like it was a part of him. Now...it repulsed him. He clicked the safety back on and set it down before returning to examine Lisbon's wound.

"I'm fine," she said, a trace of exasperation making itself known as she swatted his hands away from her skin. "Jane, really, it's nothing."

"Are you really okay?" he murmured, blue eyes searching her face for the truth.

She met his gaze squarely, a tiny smirk of tired defeat turning up a corner of her mouth. "When have I ever managed to lie to you?"

"You like playing down how badly you're hurt. Not really a lie." The panic had faded somewhat, being replaced with relief that, true to her word, the knife had only left a scratch against her neck. "It's not bad."

"Told you."

"You could've been killed. You almost were."

"But I wasn't. _We_ weren't," she replied, catching his hands in hers. Her fingers interlaced with his, squeezing gently. "We're both alive, and Red John's dead. He can't hurt anyone else anymore."

Jane blinked in surprise as her words sank into his brain. She was right. It was over. No more searching the darkness for the blood-soaked murderer of his family. No more long nights cooped in the CBI's attic. No more paranoia about secret moles.

No more Red John.

For the first time in over ten years, he dared to hope. Hope that his life could finally move forward, as that long-ago hallucination of Charlotte had begged him to do. Hope that he could visit Angela and Charlotte's gravestones and let the guilt go. Hope that he could -

"Jane?" His thoughts were disrupted by Lisbon's soft voice. She was looking up at him, worry in her green eyes as they searched his face for answers. "Are you all right?"

"I'm...I'm all right," he said in wonder. The words seemed to clear his eyes, to see past the pain and show him a future. A future with Lisbon.

Lisbon cocked her head slightly, seeing the change in his gaze. "What is it?"

The apologetic smirk unfolded across his lips. "Don't hit me."

Before she could ask him to clarify, Jane pulled her close and kissed her. It wasn't romantic or sweet or even appropriate. They were seven feet from a dead body and five minutes from being swamped by rescue and reinforcements just after the nick of time. But at that moment, he could care less.

Red John was dead and he had Lisbon in his arms. For the first time in years, life was good.

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><p><strong>And this concludes the ficlet string of #37: Blurt, #38: Pulse, and #39: Cracks.<strong>

**Review please! We're now coming to the final ten in the series!**


	42. Accomplice

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #41: Accomplice - After a while, Lisbon resigned herself to the truth.**

**Words: 435**

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><p>"Lisbon, I really think you should - "<p>

"No."

Jane heaved an impatient sigh. Bertram was demanding an explanation for the latest catastrophe, and Jane was ready with his classic "I'm a civilian consultant and therefore you have no power over my actions" and the ever-useful "Lisbon had no idea what I was doing" defense combo. But though her involvement was small, she wanted to join him on the chopping block.

"It's plausible denia - "

"What part of "No" is escaping you, Jane?"

He didn't understand why she was being so damn bullheaded. This was too big a hit for her career to take, and for once, Jane wished she'd just sit back and let him spin his lies in peace. But Lisbon was being noble and stubborn and insisting on sharing the blame. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

"Why won't you let me do this?"

"Because I'm a big girl and I can take my share of the blame."

"Not this time. You don't want this kind of heat, Lisbon."

"Yes I do."

He looked down at the brunette agent in awe, as if seeing her for the first time ever. The complete acceptance in her eyes was stupefying. She was actually willing to become his partner in crime, damn the consequences. _Did I do that to her?_

It was possible, but not entirely his fault. For all her toeing of that razor-sharp line, Lisbon had been known to take some mighty big risks. Most of those risks seemed to be taken whenever he was involved. Especially when it came time to face the head brass and deal with the repercussions of said risks.

He had to ask. "Why?"

"What you did was the only thing we could do to solve the case. The Senator wouldn't have played ball otherwise." She crossed her arms resolutely. "I'm fully capable of being your partner in crime, Jane. Otherwise I would've never signed on with you. Besides..." Lisbon had a rare twinkle in her eye that reminded Jane of his own spark of mischief. "Why should you have all the fun lying to the boss?"

"Well then..." With his smile firmly in place, Jane offered his hand to Lisbon like a lord. "Are you willing to walk into the dragon's den with me, Teresa?"

With a minxish grin of her own, Lisbon rose to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She bowed her head as regally as any lady and took his hand. "Let's go then, Patrick."

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><p><strong>A future fic, which is why Lisbon's so blah about Jane's shenanigans.<strong>

**Review please! Here goes the countdown!**

**9...**


	43. Psychic

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #42: Psychic - He kept insisting that they weren't real.**

**Words: 904**

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><p>Patrick Jane regarded the strange-looking redhead sitting beside Grace's desk with guarded interest. The family resemblence was uncanny - this newcomer shared Grace's face and slim build, and while her eyes were a stunning shade of blue-gray, their shape was the same as the junior agent's. She wore a very bohemian outfit comprised of a flowing gypsy skirt and tanktop, matched with a jean jacket that looked like it had been dug out of a thrift shop bin. A colorful scarf was tied as a headband to contain the riot of red curls fighting to escape.<p>

Donning his best winning smile, Jane strolled over and stuck out his hand. "Hi there I'm - "

"Mr. Jane, a pleasure." The woman gave him a firm handshake and replied lightly, "Yolanda."

"Oh, you're Grace's psychic cousin." Grace had mentioned her in passing, but he'd never thought Yolanda would come to California. As far as he'd known, she lived in Iowa with the rest of Grace's family. _An interesting person has come to the CBI_. _But why?_

"Wanted a change in scenery," said Yolanda serenely. When Jane's eyebrows knitted together she added, "You were wondering why I was in Sacramento."

"Does Grace know you're here?"

"I checked in before she left with that tall drink of water she's been crushing on forever - Rigsby, I believe he's called."

"And you're hanging around here because?"

Yolanda smiled. "I'm waiting to see you."

Unable to stop himself, Jane chuckled. "If Grace has told you anything about me, you'll know I'm not too friendly with so-called psychics."

The knowledge didn't seem to faze Yolanda. On the contrary, she appeared to find his words amusing. "Perhaps that is because you've never met a real one before."

"Psychics aren't real," Jane said, not bothering to soften his words. He'd played at being one after all, and distrust ran deep in his carnie blood.

But Yolanda didn't seem offended by the statement. "I understand your sentiment. It's difficult to trust in what you can't explain, yes?" Her eyes seemed to unfocus, staring past Jane instead of at him. "All you see are bloody smiles and painted nails. Can't see the life and light that has entered the nightmare...or you choose not to." Her eyes shifted to alight on the elevator. "Ah, here comes your neice now."

Sure enough, there was Coraline exiting the elevator. "Hello Cora," the mentalist called out, smiling brightly at the sight of his niece. "What brings you here?"

"Came to see you." When she saw who Jane was standing with, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "I see you've met Yolanda."

"Yes, why?" Coraline kept her eyes on the older woman, and he was picking up on the tenseness between them. "Cora, what is it?"

"Nothing, _mon oncle_." She gave her uncle a hug and smiled up at him. "Yolanda's just a very interesting sort of person." She pointed to Lisbon's office and said, "I'm gonna go talk to Teresa. Bye, Yolanda."

As she walked out of earshot, Jane looked back at Yolanda and said, "What did you say to my neice?"

"The same thing I'm about to tell you." Yolanda's eyes glided over to Lisbon's office. "You don't have to be psychic to see. You want to protect them from the nightmare that hunts and haunts you. You think if you keep them at arm's length, the monster won't be able to reach them either." She looked back to Jane with that strange unfocused gaze. "But you still wonder, what will you do when the nightmare comes down upon her?"

"You're the psychic. You tell me." It was a challenge as well as a jibe at her so-called second sight.

"You'll be faced with a choice." Her tone was heavy with finality. "You'll stand before the monster one last time, and you'll finally see what has been with you the whole time." Her gaze returned to the office, and when Jane looked over, he saw Lisbon laughing at the bouquet of wildflowers Coraline had just produced from thin air. "And with that choice, you shall either gain or lose everything." Yolanda gave the man a flat stare and added, "I suggest you tell her before it comes to that."

_And this is why I dislike people who claim to be psychic, _thought Jane. Any good con could read the unspoken attraction between him and Teresa Lisbon, and the great ones could tell that the mentalist was concealing just how much he cared about the agent. Wishing to get away before his manners waned thin, he said, "It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Yolanda."

A wry smile curved her lips. "No it hasn't." She stood up and patted wrinkles out of her skirt. "However, I too must leave. You're about to get very busy and I'd hate to distract you. Goodbye, Mr. Jane."

Jane watched Yolanda leave with a puzzled expression, but he didn't have long to ponder. Lisbon suddenly burst out of her office and stormed into the bullpen, grabbing his sleeve and saying, "We need to go, now."

"Why? What is it?"

"There's been a murder downtown. Another Red John victim."

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><p><strong>I want them to bring Yolanda in just once, just to see if A) she's the real deal and B) how Jane would react to her.<strong>

**Review please!**

**8...**


	44. Tradition

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist,_ just the OC that appears here.**

**Prompt #43: Tradition - She never cared for it. He never followed it.**

**Words: 1,042**

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><p>Traditional roles are frequently stereotyped by gender. Society dictates these roles and pounds them into children from the very first day they step into the world. They're well and good for most people, but some don't follow them. Whether by choice or coincidence is decided by other factors.<p>

Jane and Lisbon seemed to take particular pleasure in taking certain traditional norms by their ears and kicking them to the curb.

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><p>The suspect was aiming a gun straight at Lisbon, but none of the snipers had a shot at the man. Jane volunteered to go in and try to talk the man down, and against everyone's better judgment, Cho let him.<p>

Watching from the CCTV cameras, everyone watched as Jane tried to fast-talk his way into the suspect's head and trick him into stepping into a sniper's line of fire for a shoulder shot. But when two minutes passed and Jane's words didn't do a damn thing, even Cho was beginning to wonder, _Wasn't he even going to try?_

Instead Lisbon moved like a greased shadow, grabbing the gun from the suspect's hand and nailing him in the gut with a swift kick. When she shouted "Clear!" the Rapid Response Team moved in to quickly arrest the man and lead him away. Everyone was whispering about how kickass Lisbon's move had been when Cho headed inside to join his boss and Jane.

"You know," he remarked offhandedly, "traditionally speaking, you were supposed to heroically save the woman from the dangerous psycho holding her hostage."

"You're joking, right?" Completely serious, Jane pointed at Lisbon. "She's the highly trained agent. She can do all that _and _not get herself shot."

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><p>In recognition for their closing a high-profile case, Lisbon had invited the team to her place for a nice case-closed dinner. Sometimes case-closed pizza just didn't convey that sense of "job well done", and judging from the impressive spread, they'd done a damn good job.<p>

"This is delicious, Boss," Rigsby gushed as he ladled another helping of beef stew over his mashed potatoes.

"Amazing," Grace agreed, smiling as she helped herself to more green bean casserole. "And everything's homemade, right?"

Lisbon nodded. "That's right. Jane's really outdone himself this time."

Everyone paused, their utensils frozen in mid-motion as they processed her last sentence. Three pairs of eyes noted the careful, almost artistic arrangement of the dishes that usually hinted at a feminine touch. Sure, it had been a tad too much to think that Lisbon had done all this for the team, but...

Grace finally spoke, sounding like she'd swallowed a frog. "_Jane _did all this?"

"Yup." Lisbon bit into a tender piece of beef and moaned in pleasure. "Wait until you taste his chocolate soufflé. God, that thing is to _die_ for."

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><p>Jane had few pleasures in his life, and one of them was definitely having Coraline bring her dates to the CBI. Since she had no father figure, he was more than happy to fulfill that role and meet the boy currently trying to win her over.<p>

Unlike many fathers, Jane didn't go for intimidation. He liked getting to know the boy better, asking seemingly inconsequential questions and reading the boy's reactions like a dime-store comic book. His ability to sniff out ulterior motives was his superpower, Coraline joked, and he liked seeing how nervous the little brats got as his observations for more and more personal.

But outright intimidation just wasn't his style. Which was why he always met said boys in Lisbon's office while the agent was methodically cleaning her service weapon on her desk. That always served to scare those snot-nosed little punks straight.

Lisbon actually called him out on it after the latest victim left ashen-faced and terrified. "Why do you always have to interrogate them in my office while I'm cleaning my gun?"

"Because you can pull off the whole "hurt her and I'll kill you" vibe much better than I can."

"And you perfectly embody the nosy mother who pesters the kiddies before prom."

"Oh please. He's not the type of guy Cora would take to prom."

"And there's the "my daughter could do better" motherly bit," teased Lisbon.

"Well she can."

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><p>There was only one traditional role that wasn't reversed between Jane and Lisbon, and frankly they both liked it that way.<p>

When he asked her to sit down on his couch one late night at the CBI, she'd fully expected him to share a breakthrough in his search for Red John. When he unlocked the locked drawer he never opened in the desk he never used, she figured he was unearthing some clipping or note that held the secret identity of said psycho serial killer. When he knelt in front of her instead of sitting on the couch as well, she thought that he was just being his usual eccentric self.

When he flipped open the tiny velvet box and showed her the simple diamond set in gold, Lisbon couldn't help her feminine gasp as one hand rose to touch her lips in surprise. It was beautiful, completely and utterly traditional, and it touched her in a way that she never thought it would.

The look in his eyes was part hopeful, part terrified, and entirely human when he said, "Lisbon, you know the worst parts of myself and still you stay with me. You've never given up on me, and I promise to never give up on us. Will you marry me?"

There were no words wasted. Lisbon's whispered "Yes" barely escaped her lips before she leaned forward and kissed him. In between long, dragging kisses he managed to slip the ring on her finger.

They had a modest Catholic ceremony, invited their closest friends and family (which was her brothers' families for Lisbon and all the carnies willing to come for Jane), and did every single wedding tradition. The cake-sharing, the garter, the kiss amid clinking glasses, the first dance. The whole nine yards.

Sometimes, it pays to follow tradition to the letter.

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><p><strong>Wasn't really what I was going for, but I like how it turned out anyway!<strong>

**Review please!**

**7...**


	45. Flashback

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #44: Flashback - It was Red John all over again, but this time Jane was the victim.**

**Words: 824**

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><p>Red John had threatened to change the rules. He'd threatened to start killing again, to kill more often. He promised to kill until Jane caught him...or until he caught Jane.<p>

Looking down at the bloody corpse (she couldn't refer to it by name, had to distance herself) Lisbon fought the urge to throw up or, worse, burst into tears. Red John had taken his time, judging from the purposefully shallow cuts all over the body. Hours and hours of torture, meticulously planned so that his victim suffered every moment.

Lisbon shuddered as she looked up at the wall. That garish fingerpainting smiled down at her like a mad king, the blood still not dry from being smeared across the smooth white wall.

This was as horrific as any Red John murder scene, but at the same time, so much worse than any other. Because the victim was very well-known to her, and she knew how this would affect the rest of the team.

Grace had started regressing back to that cold, stone-faced woman she'd become in the wake of Craig O'Laughlin's shooting. Rigsby was visibly shaken, and he'd probably shed a few tears and seek solace in Grace's arms, just as she would in his. Cho wouldn't show any emotion in public, but Lisbon knew that he'd mourn in his own way.

"Wait, you can't go in there - " she heard an officer protesting, but another voice cut it off.

"Where is she? Lisbon? _Lisbon?_"

The terrified shout froze Lisbon solid with terror. It was too soon. She hadn't even fully processed it yet.

"Lisbon! They said you found - " The rest of the words died with a strangled sound, like someone was wringing the speaker's neck. She closed her eyes and turned around, then opened them to stare at the heartbroken, horrified visage of the intruder. She knew what he was staring at.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to her consultant.

"That - No, it can't be - NOOOOO!" Jane bolted for the body, but she caught him in a bear hug and planted her feet, stopping him in his tracks. "He can't take her!" he screamed, fighting against Lisbon's arms as he reached for the bloodstained corpse. "He can't! He can't!"

All Lisbon could do was hold on, keeping him back from the desecrated body, and think, _H__e said he'd stop once he caught Jane. We assumed he meant Patrick, but we didn't think - _

Jane's handsome face was a disfigured mask of rage, guilt, sorrow and agony as he screamed loud enough for the techs outside to hear, "CORA!"

_We didn't think he would take Coraline. _

When Rigsby and Cho stepped in to hold Jane back, Lisbon's eyes were drawn back to the smiley face. Beneath it was written:

_Little Lamb who made thee  
>Dost thou know who made thee?<br>Gave thee life & bid thee feed  
>By the stream &amp; o'er the mead;<br>Gave thee clothing of delight  
>Softest clothing wooly bright;<br>Gave thee such a tender voice,  
>Making all the vales rejoice!<em>

She had recognized the poem immediately. _William Blake's The Lamb. The companion to The Tyger_. Extreme care had been taken to write every letter of the poem clearly in the victim's blood. A first in Red John's career, leaving more than just a smiley face, but then again, this was a special case.

Then there were the two words scrawled beneath the poem, block letters spelling out the final message from Red John.

**GAME OVER**

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><p>She woke up drenched in cold sweat and panting. Eyes wide in panic and terror, her hand reached out to snatch her phone and hit number 1 on her speed dial.<p>

He answered on the first ring. "_Lisbon?_" he asked, confused and clearly concerned at being called in the middle of the night.

"Where are you?"

"_...The attic. Why?_"

"Get Cora and get over here. Now."

"_What's wrong? You sound like you've been scared to death._"

"Please Jane, just..." Her brain dragged up his tormented screaming face again, and Lisbon's voice broke. "Please, just get Cora. I'll explain when you get here."

She hung up after he promised to hurry, picked up her gun and headed downstairs to brew tea and clean her gun. The exercise would calm her mind and settle her nerves before uncle and neice arrived.

Red John had shown himself to be a wily nemesis. He'd taken a happy moment from Jane's past to prove his ability to hurt Jane, for God's sake. What's to say he wasn't plotting to use Coraline to achieve the same purpose?

_Come try, if you dare_, she silently challenged him. If Red John wanted to catch a Jane, he'd have to go through Lisbon for either of them.

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><p><strong>Holy crap, this turned extremely dark really quick. Yeah, not really a flashback, but the plot bunnies would not be denied.<strong>

**Review please!**

**6...**


	46. Brothers

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #45: Brothers - He rolled his eyes at her concern. "Lisbon, I think I'm perfectly capable of surviving your four brothers' scrutiny for one family dinner."**

**Words: 882**

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><p>Family dinners didn't usually make Patrick Jane feel so damn uncomfortable. In fact, very few things made him this uncomfortable. But since he was dating Lisbon now, he was feeling the full weight of those jitters that have plagued boyfriends during the crucial "meet the family dinner" for eons.<p>

The eldest brother, Mark, seemed content to give the mentalist a lukewarm feeling of acceptance when he bothered to acknowledge him at all. James kept shooting the mentalist a series of cold glances and spoke in a tone that clearly conveyed his disdain for Jane. It was clear that his only ally was Tommy, who gave Jane a tiny smile of reassurance from time to time whenever James or Mark were particularly rude.

Since only Tommy had ever really met him before now, Jane understood their hostility. As Lisbon had practically raised her brothers after her mother's death, they were naturally fiercely protective of her. The fact that she was also their only sister only increased the brotherly need to make sure she was taken care of.

"Reese says that you've been dating for a couple months now," said Mark as he carefully cut his steak with a precision that immediately made Jane think _s__urgeon_. "But you've worked together for how many years?"

_Ten years, eleven months, thirteen weeks and twenty days, _his memory palace instantly supplied, but Jane shortened it to, "Almost eleven." _No need to make them think I'm some sort of weirdo._

"What took you so long?" James demanded, raising an eyebrow.

_I was mourning my family and seeking revenge against the monster who took them. The monster who would've taken your sister if I'd acted on my feelings sooner. _"Your sister is very dedicated to her job."

"So what, you didn't even try?"

"I never said that."

Mark looked up at him. "So you did try before."

_Walked right into that one, _Jane thought wryly. Nerves were making him slip, but he recovered and answered, "Once. It wasn't a very appropriate time, nothing happened, and we never spoke of it again."

"What's changed?" asked Mark. "Why now?"

_Because Red John's dead and I don't have to keep dreading the sight of blood-scrawled smiles on her door. _"Because I respected her too much to force her into such a relationship before she was ready." Tired of being forced to give up information, Jane quickly asked his own question. "Why aren't you close with Teresa? In all the years I've known her, the only brother I've met before is Tommy."

Mark and James exchanged a look with each other, cautious and distrusting and simmering with a shame Jane could tell was years in the making. Their estranged relationship was not completely voluntary, but then again, they hadn't made any attempts to close the gap between them.

"We've...been busy with our careers," said Mark. "And Reese deserved to live her own life after raising the three of us after our Mom died. We were giving her space."

It was a defensive answer, and from the way James' scowl deepened, they didn't like revealing so much to a relative stranger. Jane wisely decided to let it go, diplomatically saying, "Well, Teresa has spoken highly of all of you. She mentioned that James was - "

"Alright, enough of this crap." James slammed his fork down and fixed Jane with a glare that showed he was done being polite to the man. "It's not like Reese doesn't talk to us. She's told us plenty about you, Patrick Jane."

"Is that right," Jane said evenly, likewise discarding his polite mask in favor of his traditional smirk."Like?"

"Like how you're a manipulative bastard," Mark supplied, seemingly emboldened by his brother's charge. "You've toyed with her for years, played with her feelings and threatened her job just to satisfy some sick need for an audience to your tricks."

_So that's how it's going to be played then?_ Jane's eyes narrowed._ I'm sorry Teresa,_ he apologized silently._ I know I said I'd behave, but he's starting this and I sure as hell am not gonna roll over tamely. _"Some habits are hard to break. Showman's habits are especially difficult. You try growing up in the carnie life with a father who made you perform like an organ grinder's monkey."

"You try living with a father that drank like a fish, blacked out and tried to beat you senseless," snarled James.

Jane didn't bother playing the 'My Daddy was worse than your Daddy' game. Instead he said, "I'm no saint, but I've done my best to help Teresa with what I'm able to do."

"Which is?"

His Cheshire smile grew wider. "Would you really like me to show you?"

Mark slightly leaned back, but James shifted closer and said, "Yeah. What makes the great Patrick Jane so damn useful to my Reese?"

A forgotten Tommy massaged his forehead as he watched his brother and future brother-in-law begin their first of many confrontations. _G__eez Jane, don't do anything stupid, or else_ Reese is gonna get on MY__ _ass_...

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><p><strong>Yeah yeah, I know she's only got three brothers. My bad.<strong>

**Review please!**

**5...**


	47. Scolding

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #46: Scolding - He knew that his antics could've gotten them killed.**

**Words: 384**

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><p>"Lisbon?"<p>

She shot up straight in her chair, all traces of drowsiness gone. "What? What happened? Did the doctor - "

"Nobody's come out yet," he said, placing a hand on her arm to calm her down.

"Then why - " Green eyes flashed to his face, still holding anger and disgust in their sleep-clouded depths. "What is it? And don't you dare say you're sorry."

Jane shook his head. "I wasn't going to." And he wasn't. There was no amount of apology that would ever make what he did okay.

Lisbon slouched back in her chair and shook her head. Jane licked his lips and sat back as well. "This is my fault."

"You're damn right it is," she said ruthlessly.

"I pushed too far. I thought I had a handle on the situation - "

"And we know what happened the last time that happened, don't we?" The accusation was there, raw and loaded with vitriol.

He took the accusation in stride. "I thought I could get to him without collateral damage."

"Bang up job, Jane." Lisbon was too angry and scared to even apologize for bringing up Angela and Charlotte's deaths, and he didn't expect her to. "I don't have to sit here and take this. I'm leaving."

That made Jane looked over at her, terror making his eyes go wide as plates. "Please don't go," he begged. "Please. I hate hospitals, you know that."

"It's your fault we're even in here!"

"Lisbon, please..."

She gave him a furious glare that went straight into his soul. "No, Jane. This is your fault. You wanted to go at it alone, you can suffer alone."

"Lisbon, no..." he whispered, watching her walk away helplessly. "Come back..."

The nurse sitting at the desk glanced over at him. "Did you call me, sir?"

"No," Jane said, looking down the now empty hallway. "No, sorry."

She gave him a little smile. "Is your girlfriend in there?"

"Yes."

"Don't worry. Dr. Hanson is the best trauma surgeon in the state."

Jane didn't hear her reassurances. His gaze was locked on the sign above the double doors reading OPERATION IN PROGRESS. Waiting. Hoping.

Praying that Lisbon would survive this nightmare he'd had a hand in creating.

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><p><strong>Wow, hallucination!Lisbon and severe angst ahoy! That got serious very quickly...<strong>

**Review please!**

**4...**


	48. Danger

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist _or we'd have new episodes already!**

**Prompt #47: Danger - On the job with her was always a heart attack waiting to happen.**

**Words: 852**

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><p>Jane dropped two tablets into his glass of water. He watched them fizzle and dissolve with a pained expression on his face, one hand rubbing directly over his heart. When the antacids completely dissolved, Jane picked up the glass and drained it.<p>

It was official. Teresa Lisbon was going to be the death of him.

One hair-raisingly close call, and now she was back in her office doing paperwork like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Stupid, mad, crazy woman was pushing paper and writing a report like she hadn't been staring down the barrel of a gun just hours before.

Jane put his tea back down and paced in the kitchenette, trying to dispel the nervous energy still coursing through his body. He could still visualize the standoff between Lisbon and their chief suspect Brendan North. Accused of murdering his pregnant wife, he'd drawn a gun on Jane and demanded that Lisbon call off the officers surrounding his home.

For once, Jane's fast-talking mouth had failed him. He could only gape at the weapon pointed at him him, his body frozen in terror. His heart was beating so fast it felt ready to burst out of his chest, but his body cold, so cold, and so terrified that Brendan would put a bullet between his eyes.

Lisbon never raised her voice, telling Brendan to put the gun down and surrender himself to the authorities. Jane almost stopped breathing when Brendan shot the wall behind her, barely missing her cheek, to show he was serious. She only blinked once, her face as calm and expressionless as a marble statue's.

Thankfully the rest of the team came in to save the day. Brendan was taken into custody and read his rights, and Lisbon cheerfully made a quip about not needing the added stress of filing paperwork for discharging her weapon. Jane easily shot back his own tease about living dangerously, all the while hiding how badly the entire episode had scared him.

She called him bad for her heart, but Lisbon had no _idea _what she did to his. His brave, beautiful Teresa had no idea.

_Enough of this, _he thought, putting his glass in the sink and picking up his cup of tea. His couch was calling to him, as was the book sitting on his desk. Between his tea and the book, maybe he'd be able to calm down somewhat.

"Jane?"

The sound of her approach startled him, forcing Jane to set down his teacup before he spilled hot tea down his vest. "Lisbon, hello," he said, pasting his usual smile on his face as he turned to face her. "Done pushing paper for the - "

His voice stuttered to a halt. Her face was paler than normal, and there was redness around her eyes that suggested she'd been crying. A tremor passed through her body, making her seem like a kitten that had been left out in the driving rain.

Wordlessly Jane picked up his teacup and offered it to her. She gave a wan smile and accepted it, wrapping her hands around the cup and blowing on the hot liquid. Jane quickly poured himself another cup and gestured that they head towards his couch. The bullpen was empty since the rest of the team had left hours before, so the silence stayed unbroken save for their footsteps and the creak of leather as they sat on Jane's couch. Together they sipped tea and basked in the quiet, not looking at each other.

Then Lisbon quietly whispered, "I thought he was going to shoot you. I had to draw his attention away from you."

Jane's eyes slid shut. Placing his cup down on his desk, he reached over and took Lisbon's cup to set it down beside his. He turned to face her as she did the same, looking deep into each other's eyes and seeing the unshielded emotions roiling in blue and green depths. Terror. Worry. Relief. Panic. Love.

That familiar heartache returned with a vengeance. "You're going to be the death of me," he whispered.

A trace of her usual humor appeared in the upward tilt at the corner of her mouth. "That's supposed to be my line."

"Beat you to it." Jane reached out and cradled her cheek with his hand. She leaned into his touch and covered his fingers with her own, a real smile appearing at last. "You really scared me."

"You froze. You usually don't freeze."

"I - " He swallowed, then forced himself to continue speaking. "It reminded me of facing Red John, that last time."

She nodded. She remembered the final showdown, the serial killer and Jane in a standoff, weapons drawn and aimed to kill. The only reason Jane was still alive to this day was because he'd been slightly faster at recovering from the surprise of Lisbon's interference. "But you're okay now?"

"Yeah." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm fine," he whispered against her skin. "I promise."

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><p><strong>This was supposed to be angsty, then the plot bunnies dropped some fluff at the end. Enjoy!<strong>

**Review please! We're almost done!**

**3...**


	49. Blindsided

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_.**

**Prompt #48: Blindsided - When a blonde mentalist walked into her life and proceeded to knock the wind out of her sails, Lisbon never knew she'd come to care about his annoying ass.**

**Words: 904**

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><p>When she first saw Patrick Jane a year after his family was murdered, she was forcibly reminded of a tortured puppy. A broken wreck who looked like he didn't give a damn about his appearance, he spoke softly and didn't make eye contact very easily. Hard to believe he'd once been a successful TV psychic who had conned a great deal of people out of a great deal of money. Against her better judgment, she let him join her team.<p>

The damaged puppy persona didn't last longer than a few months. He started regaining his former arrogance, dressing more smartly and taking more care with his physical appearance. That haggard look in his face faded into the back of his eyes, only appearing on cases that mirrored his own a little too closely. He never recovered his professional swagger, but his former theatrical tendencies came back with a vengeance.

Lisbon really thought he didn't care about anyone on the team. All he cared about was finding Red John and killing him. So when Jane started doing small acts of kindness and making efforts to be part of the team, she didn't buy it. He was a charlatan, and although he was nowhere near as bad as he'd previously been, he frequently used the team and manipulated suspects and innocent civilians into elaborate shows. Every incident gave Lisbon more reasons not to trust him.

Ten years passed, and she learned to expect his tricks. She couldn't predict them, but she managed to develop a pretty damn good Jane-is-gonna-do-something-unethical meter. She learned to partially read him, enough to know when he was about to say or plot something stupid and crazy. She figured out his habits, his triggers, and the perfect way to brew his tea. She learned the right words to talk him down and the perfect way to make him join a case he was reluctant to take.

But she wasn't dumb enough to assume it was all her own ability. Friendship is a two-way street, and Jane ever so slowly started to confide in her. His involvement in Lorelei's escape, his narrowing list of Red John suspects - secrets that no one else knew, secrets he kept close to the vest and locked away in his attic and his memory palace.

From the tidbits of information scavenged over their partnership, he had no close family. An empty house in Malibu and a hotel room in Sacramento were the places he owned, but a worn leather couch in the CBI squad room was what he called home. There was no one to worry about him, nobody to care if he lived or died one day on the job. Lisbon's old instincts to protect and care had stirred to life again, now focused on keeping this immature, arrogant man who seemed to enjoy finding out every single thing about her alive.

She didn't know when she started to fall in love with him, but she knew it was a bad idea from the get-go. Nothing screamed "disappointment" and "heartbreak" and "Are you stupid?" louder than falling in love with a master manipulator. His obsession closed him off to any sort of meaningful relationship, except for those needed to get closer to Red John (Lorelei Martins came to mind immediately, and that turned out so well).

And yet he kept saying those vaguely endearing words, kept touching her in ways that could just be considered friendly, but also romantic. He showed interest in her love life or lack thereof, made offhand snarky quips about the newest paramour that had Lisbon wondering if, perhaps, he was trying to show her that she was dating the wrong man. He kept letting her see him, the real him, the part of himself that most people believed he was incapable of possessing.

Ten years of lies, of half-truths torn from unwilling lips, of being manipulated and toyed with and led around by a silver string of pretty words. She could only take so much before snapping.

Which she did. Violently. Explosively. And, for both their sakes, in the safe confines of the CBI attic room long after the last agent clocked out.

And she said she was done. Done with everything Patrick Jane. Done with his dangerous obsession and her part in all of it, from simply being an accomplice to his willing partner down a dark road that would undoubtedly end in his incarceration or death and her own termination from the CBI. Done with the lies, the manipulation, the uncertainty. Done with his words and actions that directly contradicted each other.

But most of all, Teresa Lisbon was done feeling what she felt for Patrick Jane, because even if he did reciprocate her feelings, he'd never act on them until Red John was dead and she just couldn't wait that long. Even though she loved him (and _God_ did it feel good to admit that aloud and see him struck speechless for once) she wasn't going to wait anymore.

She didn't wait to hear Jane's reply. She walked out as briskly as she'd entered, climbed into her car and drove home in a daze. It wasn't until her head hit her pillow that her control broke and the tears were finally released.

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><p><strong>Review please!<strong>

**2...**


	50. Chances

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist._**

**Prompt #49: Chances - Each time, he chose to save her.**

**Words: 532**

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><p>The reason he joined the CBI was simple.<p>

Red John. It was all about Red John. Catching the ruthless psychopath who stole Angela and Charlotte, the only good and decent things in his conman's life. Making the killer pay for turning the last ten years of his life into a living hell. Wiping his pitch-black stain from the face of mankind, no matter how bloody his own hands got in the process.

There were so many opportunities to catch Red John. He wouldn't stay quiet for long, and when he did resurface, the CBI would head the manhunt. It made all the sense in the world to join their ranks as a consultant. Besides, how could they turn him away? He was brilliant, and he produced consistent results. So what if he snubbed a few bigwigs on his way to finding the true murderer. Justice is still served.

When he first met Teresa Lisbon, she struck him as a crusader of justice. Everything about her spoke of a firm moral compass, great strength of character, a level of empathy that never came off as faked, and a true belief that the wicked should be punished for their crimes by a court of law. A perfectly honest, true person. The perfect person to latch onto and manipulate. After all, the honest ones were the easiest to twist to his whims.

It was supposed to be all about Red John. Just about finding any of his "friends" and wringing the man's identity and location from their little necks. All in the CBI were mere pawns in the chess game for the bloody Red King.

Jane knows he's the Black King in this game, his crown coal-black with the sins of his past and the eventual sins in his future. That blackness transfers to those who help him, tainting them by association. Cho, Grace, Rigsby, Minelli, Hightower - each have had their pristine selves stained with the darkness of his hunt. All now share the dark gray hue of his obsession.

Lisbon was just supposed to be another pawn, a means to an end. A tool. Maybe a knight (it fit her need for justice and her clever thinking) but nevertheless a pawn for him to manipulate.

But he's saved her from being taken far more than is necessary for winning the long game. That's not how you play chess.

You don't sacrifice several chances at checkmate for one pawn.

You don't change your entire strategy several times over to protect one pawn.

You don't do everything in your power to keep one pawn from being taken.

You certainly don't favor one pawn long enough to make it into your queen.

But Lisbon has felt the touch of his influence most of all, and her little tiara is almost as black as his. Despite his best attempts to keep her at a distance, she's risen in power to be his protector, the most powerful piece on his side of the game board. His tough, angry, gun-toting little Queen.

And he will always do his absolute best to keep her on the board.

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><p><strong>We're nearly there! Nearly there!<strong>

**Review please, please, please!**

**1...**


	51. Partners

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Mentalist_ in any way, shape, or form.**

**Prompt #50: Partners - The Mentalist and the CBI Agent. Truly, a match made by the universe to last.**

**Words: 713**

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><p>The first thing he heard coming out of his nap was Lisbon's firm voice saying, "Stop squirming."<p>

Jane groaned in response, shifting his weight so that he was lying more comfortably on his couch. Lisbon rolled her eyes and gently held his head still in her lap. "Lisbon, I'm quite all right," he complained, giving her the full power of his blue eyes. "As we well know, my hard head is impervious to everything from direct commands to assault. A possible concussion is merely a little more assault than I'm used to."

"The doctor still said to ice the bruise and make sure you don't sleep too long for the next hours, in case it's worse than they thought."

"It's nothing serious."

"Yeah, nothing serious about getting your skull slammed into a steel table." She used her sarcasm to conceal the tremor in her voice. The memory of the orderly taking Jane's head to the table like a guy trying to crack a coconut was obviously still painfully fresh.

His hand moved up to cup her cheek. "Sorry if I scared you."

Lisbon shook her head. "I should be used to your boneheaded schemes by now."

"Insulting my poor injured head? Really?" Jane pouted slightly and let his hand drop to rest on his stomach. "I'm wounded, Lisbon. Grievously and utterly wounded by your words."

"If you're this overdramatic, you must be fine," she replied. His only response was to awkwardly pat her back with his right hand. Lisbon shook her head and smiled tolerantly at the man in her lap. "Maybe I should just leave you here..."

The mentalist's reaction was incredibly childish, even for him; he turned his head into Lisbon's stomach and his arms wrapped around her waist. "Don' go," he said, voice muffled by her shirt and torso.

She threaded her fingers through his blond curls and stroked his head gently. "Stop being so clingy. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not clingy."

"Really? Then what's this?" Lisbon gestured to the lean body trying to curl around her like a giant cat.

He shrugged. "You're comfy. And warm."

"Great, you're making jokes. You're perfectly fine," Lisbon quipped. "What were you dreaming of?"

Jane flinched. He'd hoped he hadn't dreamed what he had, but Lisbon was always too observant for her own good. Hanging with him for too long had rubbed off on her. "Nothing."

"Liar."

Okay, he'd really begun to rub off on her. Then again, working together for over ten years will do that to a person. Heaving a sigh, Jane closed his eyes again. "I dreamed of that night." Lisbon didn't need to ask him to clarify. Only one night would stand out in his mind so. "Everything happened as it did, except...you didn't make it out of there alive."

Then it certainly _wasn't _the night she thought it was. "What are you talking about?"

"Red John."

Those two words were softly spoken, as if he feared voicing them would summon the long-dead boogeyman back from beyond the grave. She couldn't help stiffening at them, which made Jane's hand seek out hers in a warm, crushingly reassuring grip. "He's gone, Jane."

"I know. It's been years, but sometimes - sometimes I wake up and I think you're - you're - " Jane was having trouble forming a coherent sentence. Lisbon could hear the quaver in his voice, the roughness of a residual fear.

Unable to restrain herself anymore, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his hairline. "I'm here," she whispered against his skin. "You stopped him. He'll never hurt anyone ever again."

"You're such a pain in the ass."

"But I'm your pain in the ass." That smartass grin lit up his eyes with childish mischief. "And I think you're stuck with me."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he repeated with a scoff. "It's a cosmic fact, Lisbon. We're going to be together forever."

"You are so damn childish." She smiled down and stroked the hair at his temples. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Naturally. You know I'm right."

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><p><strong>And so concludes another glorious compilation! Thanks for sticking around for so long!<strong>

**Leave a review on your way out, and please read my other stories!**


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